


Eye of the Storm 2: Skyhold

by Seabirdsong



Series: Eye of the Storm [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst and Porn, Angst and Romance, Cawke, Cunnilingus, Drama, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Feels, Flashbacks, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Hawken, Jealousy, Lyrium Addiction, Lyrium Withdrawal, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Public Sex, Reunited and It Feels So Good, Romance, Romantic Angst, Romantic Fluff, Semi-Public Sex, Shameless Smut, Smut, Suspense, romantic sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-09
Updated: 2016-02-10
Packaged: 2018-04-13 21:30:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 40
Words: 261,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4538103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seabirdsong/pseuds/Seabirdsong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four years after the Chantry explosion that started a war and ended their secret affair, mage Avery Hawke and the former Knight-Commander Cullen meet again in Skyhold, and get a second chance at a happy ending.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Even after all the mountains she and Fenris had traversed, Avery Hawke was still surprised by her fear of heights. At least by _these_ kinds of heights. Heights so tall and deep that it made her feel tiny and insubstantial, as though a wrongly angled gust of wind could whisk her away to oblivion as easily as a leaf on a breeze. As though the whole world had turned upside down and inside out and she no longer knew what was up or down or sideways. Was she peering down into a spacious valley of ice, or up into the endless sky? Was the ground still solid somewhere way beneath her, or was it above beyond the clouds, or far away at some strange, unreachable angle? As she peered out the window of the wagon that carried her across the final bridge to Skyhold, her brain lost hold of all the rules of existing in the physical world, and floundered to grasp onto something stable in the expanse of air around her. It all seemed to be moving, swaying and trying to shake her off and fling her into the void.

Except that it really wasn’t. That was only her mind, only her fear. A fear she’d never been able to rationalize or get a handle on, or even anticipate some of the time. But yet, there it was, as real as the nose on her face. She already felt out of her element traveling in this fashion, and she shivered as she closed the shutter on the wagon window and took a deep breath to regain her bearings. Yet she was glad the horses at the front of the cart were in control, because if she’d had to rely upon her own feet, she wasn’t sure they’d know what to do.

For the millionth time during the week long journey through the mountains, she found herself staring into space and absentmindedly fingering the tattered parchment of Varric’s letter. It had been folded and refolded so many times, jammed into pockets, used as a place marker in her books, and generally worn so thin that the paper no longer felt like paper at all, but more like some soft cotton garment that you could make a shirt or a pair of knickers out of. Except it was ripping a little at the seams, and the fuzzy corners had turned brown with grime and the oils from her fingers.

She wasn’t sure why she’d kept it. It certainly wasn’t the first letter Varric had ever sent her, and not even the first in which they arranged details of her trip to Skyhold. As far as those went, it was the third at least. But this one said _his_ name. There were several paragraphs of the usual witticisms and exaggerations, instructions and directions, Varric’s typical closing with the big, flourishing signature that always made her laugh with its ostentatiousness. And then in small print at the bottom: _P.S. You should probably know that the former Knight-Commander Cullen is here._

Of course Varric had only thought to mention it at the last minute, when it was too late for her to back out. Not that she would have. If the Inquisition could use whatever information she had about Corypheus to seal that big green thing in the sky, then there was no question that she would assist them. The stakes were too high not to, and she was hoping for a little bit of information herself, since she was absolutely certain she’d already killed that thing already. Killed him dead, dead, gone. That he was alive and loose and threatening Thedas was just beyond everything she understood about the world, even as someone who dealt in the mysteries of magic.

But the Knight-Commander… his was a name she hadn’t uttered in years. A face she deliberately kept blocked out of her memory. Of course Varric had no idea of the extent of their involvement back in Kirkwall, or the devastating effect that it had on her after it ended. There was that kiss in the Gallows before the big fight with Meredith that everyone saw, but she’d shrugged that off in the hours after they’d returned to help aid the survivors of the Chantry explosion. Said she didn’t know what had come over them. That it must have just been some strange, impulsive fluke born of facing down one’s own death. And it didn’t matter anyway because she was leaving town with Fenris and didn’t intend to ever see the Knight-Capt… _Commander_ again.

And she hadn’t.

The last times she’d actually fully looked at him, he was fighting Meredith. And even in the midst of the blood and chaos and the world breaking apart around them, she’d felt herself fall a little deeper for the beautiful, overburdened Templar. And then so soon after that, mere moments later, she watched something change in him, almost imperceptibly, as in the absence of Meredith Stannard he took charge of the remaining Templars. An extra stiffness to his back took over, an aura of all consuming purpose that left no room for anything else in him, including her. She watched him walk toward her with an apology in his eyes and a new strength in his posture, and she knew she had to look away. And she had, and that had been it. It was done.

She kept telling herself that it didn’t matter that he’d be there. That the stuff between them was a long time ago, and her wounds had long been sealed over with thick, solid scar tissue that barely anything could penetrate any more. She’d go to Skyhold, do what was necessary to cast that blighted demon thing back into the void again, and then she’d leave. It might even be a good thing that he was there, and he could see just how fine and okay and functional she was. Of course he’d never know just how close he’d actually come to completely destroying her, in ways he could never even fathom, but that was irrelevant. It was old news. Now, she was fine. She could get out of bed and act like a person and even joke around and laugh sometimes. Sometimes too much. Sometimes joking and laughing was the strongest shield she had. But it didn’t matter. And surely he wasn’t still broken up over her or anything, not four years after the fact.

Yet she didn’t really know why she still had the letter, why she’d spent so much time looking at those words. They were just letters scrawled on a page, spelling out the name of a man she’d done her best to forget. The forgetting had been hard won, accomplished with whiskey and tears and fighting and dragging her wounded, aching body across Thedas until there was almost nothing of it left. But, eventually, thoughts of him had come less and less, until one day they hadn’t come at all. And she’d kept it that way. The Maker had made it clear that that aspect of life — love, and a family — just weren’t meant for her. It had been difficult, but she accepted it, and knew with a bone deep certainty that it wouldn’t change just because she was visiting some some fortress in the mountains for a while.

She sighed and slid back the shutter to the window just enough to fit the folded up wedge of parchment through, and then opened her fingers to let it flutter away in the icy mountain wind.

 

Instead of going through the main gate, the wagon stopped just outside and she was waved over to a small door. She climbed out of the wagon and stretched her legs, arching her back and trying to rub some blood back into her sore butt, taking a deep breath of cold air that was so dry it bit at her sinuses and lungs. Then she continued forward, making a point not to look behind her at the dizzying valley she’d just crossed. She still felt the gulf of space behind her, threatening all that was solid and reliable in her world, but she shook it off and threw open the small wooden door, taking the first steps into her new adventure.

The first face she saw belonged to a squat little dwarf with luxurious chest hair, and she smiled her first genuine smile in more days than she could remember.

“Hawke!” Varric came at her with open arms and she bent down to find herself crushed into a warm hug. “You made it!”

She nodded, looking him over. He looked exactly the same, maybe a couple new scars here and there, but barely aged, still muscled, blonde and short.

“Bianca’s been taking good care of you, I see,” she said.

“She always does, my friend,” he laughed. “She always does.” He squinted a little as he looked her over. “You look well. Need a haircut, and a little more meat on your bones, but at least you look better than the last time I saw you…”

His voice wavered slightly, as though he was having second thoughts about actually saying the words that were coming out of his mouth, which was a strange thing to hear in the otherwise verbose man. But she knew why, and didn’t really blame him, even as it irked her a little.

“That was a long time ago, Varric. I’m fine now.” He led her through a small brick pathway, and then another door to the Skyhold courtyard. It opened to another world altogether, and as she took in the unexpected expanse of vibrant green, she found herself breathless.

“Right. Of course you are,” he said, “Shit, could that really have been three years ago?”

“Three and change.”

She studied a small alcove to the left of the door that held a number of tents, and people lounging around a low-burning fire. To the right was a muddy pathway leading to a large barn and what she assumed were some stables, as well as a few market booths. Scaffolding leaned up against a wall, where a crumbled section of stone seemed to be in the middle of repair, and straight ahead a series of pathways and stairs led to higher ground. The main building of Skyhold rose up elegantly over them, built with smooth, polished brick and massive arching windows. The craftsmanship was superb, even though the place looked positively ancient. It was all formidable, and completely stunning.

“How is it that there is green grass and blooming trees at the top of a mountain in the middle of the Frostbacks?” she asked.

“Oh Chuckles says there’s some kind of old magic here or something. It’s nice though, right? Not quite the shithole that Kirkwall was,” he said. “You could meet Chuckles if you want, but uh, it’s probably better if you lay low for the first day or two. I got the impression that you didn’t really want to announce your presence here anyway, so that works for both of us.”

Avery nodded as Varric led her directly to a long set of stone steps built against the perimeter wall, and began climbing. The steps turned, and turned again, and Avery’s legs smarted slightly at the exertion. After a week of traveling by wagon — an accommodation she didn’t want, but for some reason Varric had insisted upon — and her body felt completely out of sorts. From the top of the stairs the battlements stretched in a meandering path around the perimeter, cutting through watchtowers, with one bridge arching toward the main building. She paused and looked around, astounded that such a place existed in the middle of miles and miles of barren, icy peaks.

From her vantage point she could see all of Skyhold’s courtyards. The green stretched from wall to wall, and every corner of the courtyard was bustling with activity, people of all races and manner of dress, even a few Orlesians with their finicky fashions and ornate masks. She couldn’t help but scan the groups for any familiar faces, at least among those faces that were actually visible. She wouldn’t have been surprised if a certain Templar wasn’t the only person from her past here. From everything she’d heard from Varric, the Inquisition seemed to be attracting a lot of prominent and important people.

“So, let me guess,” she began, “‘Chuckles’ has probably never actually chuckled in his life.”

“Something like that. That’d be S--”

“No don’t tell me. Let me figure it out. I assume you’ve got your little names for everyone.”

“Well, just the big players,” he shrugged.

“Good. This will be fun,” she said. “I’ll need something to pass the time.” A thought occurred to her, for surprisingly the first time ever, and she had to ask.

“Did you ever have another name for me?”

He laughed, turning right and leading her down a long narrow battlement path. “Nah, you’ve always been just Hawke.”

“Well,” she snorted, “don’t I feel special.”

“I could come up with something though if you really want me to?”

“Please do,” she said pleasantly. “But only if it’s exceptionally bad ass, and manages to also allude to my incandescent beauty and razor sharp wit.”

Varric laughed, “is that all? Because ‘Hawke’ pretty much covers all that in most circles.”

“Aw, really? That’s so sweet!” she said. She was amazed and comforted by how easy it was to fall back into the same old repartee with Varric. Time might not have been particularly kind to her, but he at least seemed exactly the same.

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, waving her off. “Well anyway, you remember that Seeker I told you about? She’s here too, and she is not going to be happy to find out that I’ve known where you were this whole time so….”

“And that’s all you call her? Just Seeker?”

“Yes, just Seeker. Pay attention Hawke, because she’s pretty intimidating, and if she finds you before I break the news you might end up bearing the brunt of her wrath instead of me...” he said, and then he laughed again. “Though actually, on second thought, maybe I will just let her find you.”

“But just ‘Seeker’ is so boring, especially if she’s really that scary. Do the woman some justice, Varric.”

He sighed, but did so with a grin.“Did you hear anything I just said?”

They were heading toward a small tower in one of the furthest corners of the battlements, one that probably looked directly down into that valley that had tormented her on the way in. Varric nodded at the soldier that passed by, apparently just a grunt doing his usual rounds. She saw a few similar bodies in distant sections of pathway, looking small enough to drive home the reality of Skyhold’s impressive size. Avery turned to focus on the inner courtyards, continuing to scan the grounds below them when she could, seeing only a collection of colorful strangers. A small prickle rose up her spine as she considered that at that very moment, Cullen was somewhere within these same walls. There was no single outstanding feeling on the matter, instead there was a whole confusion of them. She supposed it was mostly nerves. Of course she’d be a little nervous at the thought of seeing him again for the first time. But that didn’t necessarily mean anything. She shook the thought off. It didn’t matter. Why in the void would it possibly matter?

“Yep,” she quipped, finally answering his question. “Pay attention. Brunt of her wrath. Et cetera.”

“Okay, good.”

“Well don’t worry, I don’t plan on doing much while I’m waiting around. I didn’t get enough sitting on my butt with that week I just spent in the wagon. There’s still another week or two at least before I’ve properly atrophied all my muscles. And you know how I hate to do things half-assed.”

“Oh good. Sarcasm,” he smirked affectionately.

“Or in this case, I guess I’m working toward _no_ assed.”

“Yep, that’s the Hawke I remember.”

They’d made it to the corner of the battlements, a section of Skyhold that seemed exceptionally quiet. She took another deep breath, amazed at the difference in temperature between the Frostback roads and the interior of Skyhold. It’d be nice enough, she decided, for the short time she’d be there. Maybe, if she got lucky, she could get in and out without seeing the Knight-Commander at all.

 

“So here’s your digs," said Varric as he swept his arm toward a little door carved into the side of a watchtower. "It’s nothing fancy. I couldn’t tell them who was coming, so you only got the basic set up. I stocked it up with a few books and a bottle of that spicy Antivan whiskey that you used to like. You shouldn’t get much in the way of visitors up here on this end. The guards pretty much mind their business unless you’re causing trouble. If you have any issue with them though just talk to Commander Cullen. His office and quarters are way down there,” Varric said, pointing to a watchtower on the far side of the courtyard, right beside the main gate. It was far away, but yet still unnervingly close.

“I imagine once the Inquisitor hears about your Grey Warden contact, he might want to get on the road again pretty quickly if he can,” Varric said. “Then again,it’s tough to tell what that kid’s gonna do sometimes, so there’s an equal possibility that you might be here for a while,” he sighed. “I guess we’ll find out.”

“So…tell me about this Inquisitor,” she asked as she walked into the tower room. A simple, wooden frame bed sat in the corner. There was a trunk, a stack of books and a table with chairs, all of it looked like it had been constructed on the spot with old, salvaged pieces of wood. There was a large, thick rug in the middle of the room and a small window beside the front door. It was a perfectly sufficient set up.

“Well, he’s a smart kid, good strategic mind. Absolutely lethal with a pair of daggers. But, the kid’s libido is a little out of control. He’s basically a skinny, elven Isabela,” he said, and then he laughed. “Just a fair warning, Hawke, he’s definitely going to put the moves on you, so try not to kill him when he does. We need that little mark thing on his hand to close all these damn holes in the veil.”

“Alright,” she laughed. “Good to know.”

“Seriously though. I’m glad to see you looking… normal,” said Varric, his smile fading slightly.

Avery turned away, hiding her eyes and the burn of shame that was probably coloring her cheeks a bright pink. She hated being reminded of that period in her life, remembering the constant looks of worry and the way Varric and Fenris has refused to let her out their sight for weeks. It had admittedly been the right thing for them to do, but still, it had made her feel like a child. Fenris hadn’t been as bad as Varric, and it was all probably made worse by the fact that she couldn’t bring herself to tell Varric much about why she’d begun acting so erratically. He’d assumed it was Anders, the mages and the Chantry, and that was part of it. Fenris knew another part of it, since he'd been there on that fateful morning. But neither of them knew _all_ of it. To tell it would have been to relive it, and that wasn’t an option.

She’d be lying if she claimed that whole business didn’t have something to do with why she hadn’t seen Varric since. She sighed and turned around to face him again, conjuring up a reassuring but somewhat false smile.

“I am more normal now than I ever was before,” she joked bitterly, trying hard not to grit her teeth as she spoke.

He laughed it off in a attempt to lighten the mood again, and paused for a moment before he walked out the door, promising to return later with dinner.

 

That time in her life was not one she liked to remember, and she’d blocked it out along with everything else having to do with Cullen. She’d already spent a good portion of that year after the Chantry explosion reliving all those memories over and over again. So much so that she figured it was enough to last the rest of her lifetime already.

But it all came back to her as she stood in Varric’s wake, flooding through her in a wave of visions and emotions. In a painful flash she remembered the overpowering scent of rust in her nose as she sat up in the tent after the first five weeks on the road. She’d been cramping, and thought it was her monthly cycle, coming just a little bit off schedule. Her body was probably out of whack from all the new activity, she figured, but it’d get back into the groove of things eventually. She blinked away the sleep in the dim morning light and looked into her bedroll, expecting to see blood and cringing at the thought of cleaning up a mess. And she had seen blood. But there was far too much of it. A whole shiny pool of it. Blood in an amount that could only mean one thing: something precious had been growing inside her, something that also belonged to a blond haired Templar. And now it wasn’t anymore.

She’d sat there for a moment, feeling her heart crumble as she processed what had happened. And then, as if she was sleepwalking, she’d dragged her bedroll out of the tent, and down the hill to the water. She remembered the icy waves crashing against her body, soaking her clothes and shocking her flesh as she walked straight in without stopping. She’d shivered for only the first minute or two as she slowly made her way deeper, fighting against currents and waves that tried to push her back to solid ground. And then the shivering had just stopped, replaced by an all consuming numbness. She’d meant only to scrub the blood away, to wash off the evidence of yet another loss, this one of something she wasn’t even aware existed until it was gone. But instead she’d ended up just standing there, watching her bedroll float away on the waves, eventually sinking down and disappearing completely. It seemed so peaceful. A quiet, clean, quick ending. All she had to do was keep walking forward, one step after another, and disappear into the waves. Maybe the Waking Sea would even carry her back to Kirkwall, and she could rest forever near the man she loved.

Eventually, the crashing of the waves had changed their rhythm in the distance behind her, but she’d only barely registered it. All she’d cared about were the roiling, peaking mountains of sea ahead of her, promising peace and a long, black sleep. It got harder and harder to push herself further out against the tide once she could only reach the ground with her tip toes, but it still wasn’t deep enough yet to pull her completely under. Eventually the distant crashes got louder, and then they were right behind her, and then a strong, wiry arm wrapped around her waist. She fought with claws and teeth and bursts of magic to stop her salvation from being stolen out from under her, but Fenris was simply too strong.

The breakdown that came after had been complete and lasting, and what she hadn’t blocked out on her own since then, she didn’t remember anyway.

 

 

+++++++++++++++

 

 

Avery hummed her approval at the familiar burn of the Antivan whiskey, and stood on the square section of roof she'd found a short walk away from her quarters. Heights like this were fine, she noted. Add another story or two and she might start to get dizzy, but this was fine. Nice, even. The view reminded her of her balcony from her home in Kirkwall, looking over the city. The last time she’d taken in that view, it was the old Kirkwall, the pre-Chantry explosion Kirkwall. When she still knew Anders and was running off to a secret hidden spot by the sea. This view was different, but much nicer. The sun was slipping below the horizon, setting the sky and snowy mountain peaks on fire. A wooden building nearby was emitting the quiet strains of a soft female voice singing, drowned out by occasional bursts of drunken laughter. A tavern, she figured, and probably one much nicer than the Hanged Man, or any of the hundreds she’d spent nights in since. If Varric hadn’t asked her to lay low, she’d head down there at that very moment, and see if she could blend in with the crowd. She wasn’t recognized very often anymore, especially since she’d started growing out her hair and had given up on the typical mage robes. She preferred armor now, ideally a thick set of leathers, and she rarely ever carried her staff around. It was usually only the factions of mages that she and Fenris occasionally encountered who’d ever known her on sight, and looking down into the Skyhold courtyard she didn’t see many mages.

But instead of a tavern on this, her first night, she’d drink alone in her little corner of Skyhold and watch the people move about the courtyard. She tried to keep from glancing over toward the tower that Varric said belonged to Cullen, but she caught herself looking at it a few times, watching numerous metal-clad bodies stream in and out of the two doors visible from her distance. None of them were recognizable as anyone at all. They were just men, walking in an orderly fashion as soldiers tend to do. She could barely see the color of their hair, much less whether they had intoxicating amber eyes and beautifully curved lips. It was simply too far away to see any detail, and that was a tremendous relief. She didn’t want to be sitting around watching those doors in case there was a familiar body out there she should try to avoid. She didn’t want to be on edge about anything at all.

She gazed up into the sky, watching the changing colors as they blazed against the clouds, and imagined what she’d say or do if she did ever have a run in with him. She figured the best thing to do would be to be polite, gracious and concise. She’d say ‘hello, funny seeing you here, you look well’. She’d smile even if she didn’t feel like it, something she was well practiced at now, and do all the normal, expected pleasantries that one does and says when they see someone they used to know for the first time in years. But the most important thing would be to extricate herself quickly, lest that inexplicable spell he’d cast on her before started to take hold again.

She emptied her glass, throwing the rest of the liquid fire down her throat in a single gulp.

As if on cue, she heard the gentle, soothing lilt of a familiar laughter wafting up from the courtyard below and a cold tickle crawled up her back. She was almost angry. _Please don’t let Skyhold be this small,_ she prayed, cursing the Maker silently. Her heart caught in her throat and she opened her senses, listening as hard as she could to try to confirm that it was not, in fact, a laugh belonging to the person she’d just been thinking about avoiding.

When nothing came, she took a few cautious steps toward the edge of the roof and peered down into the dimming expanse of space. She searched the grassy lawn for a metal body, for a head of golden hair, and her eyes were drawn toward a crouching figure perched before a smiling child. She fell into a crouch herself, and peeked meekly over the edge of the stone rail, feeling her blood rush in roaring waves through her ears, the whiskey and week’s worth of inactivity making her wobbly and unbalanced. The figure didn’t look like him. The hair was right, but he was dressed in drapes of luxurious red fabric over shiny metal plates, and a prominent pauldron of red and black. That was no Templar outfit that she’d ever seen. The laughter came again and her breath hitched in her throat.

It was truly him, and he was close. She couldn’t see the detail of his face, but there was no mistaking it. He was there, _right there_ , laughing quietly in his conversation with a small, dark haired boy.

Avery was not expecting the rush of emotion that almost knocked her flat. Her slightly drunken mind struggled to make sense of the figure in her vision. Of all the ways she first thought to see him, smiling at a child was exactly what her heart was not prepared for. The boy was too old to be his child though. He was six, maybe, and dark complected, with unruly brown hair.

She should look away. He couldn’t see her, crouched as she was behind the low stone railing, but she was apparently feeling sentimental or something, and that simply would not do. It must have been the long journey. She was just tired, and a week’s worth of preparation to see a man who’d once affected her so profoundly had apparently not been enough. But it didn’t matter that he was here, she reminded herself. It didn’t matter that _years ago_ , they’d had something for a few impassioned months. He’d chosen a life that didn’t include her and she’d chosen a life that didn’t include him, and that was just that.

Cullen stood, his metal chestplate glinting orange in the fading light of the sunset and she saw the familiar cut of his jaw, the shape of his face. The amber irises were lost within the deep shadow of his eyes, and he still looked tired. But he also looked happy, or at least decidedly less burdened. He was smiling… _laughing_. Life here was obviously good for him. She began to wonder idly if they’d have ended up here together, had things gone differently after the Gallows, but that wasn’t speculation that was worth her energy. She was clearly tired and a little tipsy, and probably she should just go finish off that plate of food that Varric had brought her and—

“Hello?” a laughing voice asked from behind her. Whoever it was was apparently pretty amused to see her hiding behind the rail. 

Startled, she stood abruptly, _too_ abruptly, and her emptied glass slipped free of her hand, falling in slow motion onto the stone at her feet with a loud, ringing crash. She cringed immediately, and looked toward the lanky figure who was approaching her in the dim evening light. An elf, with long, honey colored hair that was shaved at the sides, and he was walking toward her with an amused expression and a raised eyebrow.

She chanced a look out down into the courtyard, praying quietly that somehow, by the grace of the Maker, Cullen hadn’t heard her glass breaking. But she was startled yet again to see him standing closer to the building, looking directly up to the roof where she stood. She sighed, frozen in place, looking down at him as he looked up at her. The detail of his face was still lost in the distance and the lack of light, and she figured it was possible that he’d just assume she was someone who looked similar. Or just someone else altogether. Her hair was longer now, her style of dress very different. Just because she recognized him didn’t mean that he’d immediately think of her. Unless he knew she was there, but Varric had implied that no one really knew. She sighed. She had no idea what he was seeing, or thinking.

“Is everything okay?” the elf asked again, this time stopping right beside her at the edge of the roof and following her gaze. The elf gave Cullen a wave with a hand that glowed an eerie green, and after a heartbeat’s hesitation, Cullen brought his own hand up and returned it.

In a breath, Avery came back into herself and she swiftly stepped away from the edge of the roof, removing herself from Cullen’s sight, removing Cullen from hers. It didn’t matter, she muttered over and over to herself, her new mantra. If he saw her, if he didn’t, if she never saw him again. _It didn’t fucking matter._

 


	2. Chapter 2

She’d had too much whiskey for this. Or, perhaps she hadn’t had enough. The elf was watching her with a knowing smirk, his lanky frame moving about the roof with a loose sureness. She could see this was a man — barely a man, definitely closer to a kid — who was used to getting what he wanted.

“Admiring our Commander I see,” he teased. Avery watched him warily as he stepped jangly circles around her, kicking at chunks of broken glass. “Can’t say I blame you. He is quite strapping, isn’t he?”

Avery said nothing, partly because she didn’t know what to say, partly because she wasn’t exactly enjoying his baiting tone.

“Do you know him?” he asked. “Or perhaps you just _want_ to know him?”

He laughed quietly, “You’re certainly not the first. He has a whole fan club around here somewhere, following him constantly with lovesick eyes. I’m sure he’s given every one of them a good rogering. At least I hope so. It’d be a waste if he hasn’t.”

She scowled at him, her vision slightly blurred by the liquor filling her head. The darkness was falling faster and faster around them, and soon a lantern or light of some sort would be required to see much of anything at all.

He stepped up onto the narrow top of the stone rail, balancing on one foot as he leaned boldly over the drop off. The sight made her incredibly nervous. The last thing she’d wanted to do was help scrape splattered elf up off the ground.

“Ah, well. He’s gone now,” he said. He balanced gracefully for another anxious second, and then hopped back off in a single smooth motion, landing as lightly as a cat. This was obviously the Inquisitor Varric had warned her about. Despite his cocksure attitude, the kid was definitely attractive, oozing charisma with every sly glance, every calculated move. The twin daggers on his back were purple with the reflection of the fading sky, and she saw the delicate lines of a faint vallaslin under his large, almost black eyes.

She remained silent. Varric had warned her to lay low and she had no idea what she should say to him when he inevitably asked who she was. Should she lie? If she gave only her first name would he be able to put two and two together? Most people who knew of the Champion of Kirkwall also knew her first name. But she couldn’t have been the only Avery in Thedas.

“Oh shit, did I piss you off already?” he laughed again, apparently concerned by her silence. “I do that to people sometimes. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.” In a disorienting blur his voice had gone from cocky and taunting to disarmingly genuine. Avery reeled at the sudden shift, but still kept her mouth shut.

“Anyway, I’m Mahanon.” He held out that green glowing hand to her, watching her with dark, glinting eyes. “You can call me Anon. Or Inquisitor I guess, but I prefer Anon.”

She took his hand and felt a vortex of energy confined within his grip, that green marking singing alarmingly with the song of the Fade. After a quick handshake she flipped his hand and held it in both of hers, inspecting the strange, glowing brand that pulsated in his palm. It churned and prickled, feeling _alive_. His fingers brushed deliberately against hers and rested there, his full lips curling in a sly smile as he watched her study the mark.

The sound of more footsteps approached quickly as someone ascended the stairs adjacent to the roof. A dark figure appeared, making a beeline straight for them. The black shadow of an intimidatingly powerful man slowly emerged into view, and Avery felt her heart begin scrambling against her breast, fluttering with an anxious ache. It was Cullen of course, apparently come to explore whatever he thought he’d seen standing on the roof. His steps slowed as he closed the distance, his face pale and wan even in the growing darkness. She couldn’t tell what he was thinking, only that his eyes were trained firmly upon her, round and wide with what looked like cautious disbelief.

“It _is_ you,” Cullen said quietly, ignoring the Inquisitor for the first several seconds. Eventually his gaze broke away and fell upon Anon’s hand in hers, and she dropped the hand guiltily, realizing a moment too late that the hasty motion only looked suspicious, and she had no reason to feel guilty about it in the first place. She noted a sharpness in his dark eyes as he turned to glare quietly at Anon.

“Ah, so you do know each other,” Anon said in his sing-song voice, sounding completely unaffected by Cullen’s pointed disapproval. “Well perhaps you wouldn’t mind telling me this lovely lady’s name, Commander? She hasn’t said a word to me yet.”

Cullen shifted his weight on his feet and swallowed hard. Avery was having a hard time looking straight at him. Floating blue blotches were blocking out her vision as though as all her blood had just drained completely out of her. She wasn’t sure she could speak even if she wanted to; her throat felt as parched as the Hissing Wastes.

“If she hasn’t given you her name, perhaps it is because she doesn’t want you to have it,” Cullen snapped.

She took a deep breath. This was not the way she envisioned any of this. She should be smiling, being polite, acting as unaffected and easygoing as Anon looked. He didn’t seem to give a single shit about the daggers that Cullen was casting his direction. She tapped into the whiskey flowing through her veins and tried to loosen herself up a bit.

“Avery,” she said finally, managing to keep her voice steady and pleasant. “Nice to meet you Inquisitor Anon.”

“Oh, one or the other is fine. Both just sounds so _formal,_ ” he said as he winked, a small, flirtatious flourish she only barely saw.

She smiled. It was as false a smile as she’d ever worn in her life, and Cullen’s frown deepened further as his eyes flicked over to her. What was it she had practiced saying again?

“Knight-Commander. You look well.”

He cleared his throat, and Avery could see his chest rising and falling quickly, enough to betray his own nerves. She was slightly amused by Cullen’s reaction to Anon. He did not seem to care much for the elf at all, which was certainly not what she expected. Anon's reputation had preceded him thanks to Varric, but now she could see for herself that easy charm that probably kept his bed warm on a regular basis, as well as threatened the prospects of any other man in proximity. That wink especially had been pure Isabela.

“It’s just Commander now,” Cullen croaked. She forced herself to look directly into his face, but with him standing with his back to the disappearing sun she found it almost completely obscured by shadow. She saw the outline of those golden curls, the graceful, muscled neck, and that regal bearing which was made all the more impressive by that pauldron of his. But the lack of light made the whole scene feel distant and dreamlike, and she relaxed slightly. Why had she been so afraid of seeing him again? He was just a man like any other. Perhaps it was just the combination of darkness and intoxication, but she found herself laughing softly.

Cullen cleared his throat again. “If you two aren’t discussing anything of great importance, perhaps I might ask for a moment of your time?”

Anon sighed dramatically, “well I suppose, but I was really looking forward to—”

“Not you,” Cullen interjected.

“Oh. Well that would be up to the lady, wouldn’t it?” Anon asked brightly, completely unperturbed.

“That’s why I was asking _the lady._ ”

Avery thought for a moment.

“I don’t see why not,” she answered, feigning nonchalance. She was increasingly pleased by her performance, but her heart continued to flutter as she anticipated being alone with him. At least it would be dark. At least she wouldn’t have to look into his eyes.

The three of them just stood there, no one making a move to leave. Cullen sighed again.

“Inquisitor, do you mind?” he asked.

Anon rocked back on his heels, and then he bent slightly. Before she really knew what was happening, she felt that buzzing green hand close gently around hers, and lift up to his face where warm lips pressed a soft kiss onto the back of her hand. It was a bold move that completely caught her off guard and she had no idea why he’d done it. Perhaps the man was simply trying to antagonize Cullen. Anon gave a quiet bow and disappeared into the shadows behind them without even the trace of a sound. Avery was left reeling by the gesture, and Cullen’s snarl was practically audible as he turned to watch the elf disappear.

They stood in silence long enough for Avery’s heart to try to make an escape out her throat. She was sure he could probably hear her heavy breathing, suddenly feeling as though she couldn’t get enough air. The brief, whiskey soaked looseness was gone, and now she was achingly aware that she was standing alone in the dark with the man who’d haunted the crushed remains of her heart. This was all coming way too fast. She’d only just arrived, she’d barely gotten settled in. She thought she’d at least have more time than a few hours before she had to face down her past. The night around her began to spin, and she was struggling to bring herself back into focus when he finally spoke.

“Where have you been?” he asked softly. “You just… left, and didn’t come back.”

She cleared her throat, but there wasn’t one single answer she could think to say. She’d been everywhere. All across Thedas and back again, she’d been lost inside herself, lost at the bottom of countless bottles of liquor, lost for a short amount of time within Fenris’s arms and big green eyes. And then lost alone, wandering across lands she didn’t even try to identify.

She didn’t trust herself to say anything in response.

“I was told you left with that elf friend of yours, the one with the blue marks. Is he… are you… um, I mean, are you here alone?”

“I am. I am alone,” she said, finally finding her voice. _I have been alone for a very long time._

He took a step closer and her breath caught in her throat. She was increasingly sure that any moment now her heart was going to burst through the walls of her chest. Her stomach had begun to churn, a vise tightening itself on her temples. She realized her body was completely clenched up and she made an effort to release her muscles one by one. First her jaw, then her shoulders, then her fists. How quickly she’d gone from faking a smile to feeling like she was going to empty the contents of her stomach all over his boots. With only darkness before her eyes now, she saw instead the well worn images of their last moments together, of the crushing emptiness that infected her soul after he’d unexpectedly broken things off with her in the Gallows. It was so long ago, but there before him in the dark, it all suddenly felt painfully fresh.

“Can we go somewhere with light? I… I want to see your face,” he said. But she couldn’t go anywhere except her quarters, and she didn’t want to take him there. Where else could else she run to if she needed to escape? Instead she tugged on her connection to the veil and pushed forth a burst of mana, manifesting a crackling sphere of light over her hand.

She kept her eyes cast down, afraid to look at him. He took another step closer, and a tickle crawled over her scalp as he picked up a rope of her hair and pulled his fingers lightly down it.

“I like this,” he said softly.

She was staring at the detail of his chestplate, shiny metal with rivets and seams gleaming out from under the red drapes of velvet. She recalled the words he’d said to her at the Gallows, deliberately bringing them forth in her memory to try to put some fire back in her blood. This person standing before him wasn’t who she was anymore. She was stronger than this.

She took a step back, out of his reach, crunching her boot down on some shards of broken glass.

She should face him, get used to looking at him again. She’d need to be able to handle it the next time it happened so she could stop flailing about. Finally, she looked up.

He was, if possible, even more breathtaking than she remembered. For a fraction of a second she felt like she was standing on the ledge in Kirkwall, but for the small differences that somehow only made him more beautiful. Her eyes were immediately drawn to a thin scar cutting down the top of his lip, marring the corner of that perfect curve that she’d spent so much time kissing. But it was strangely more of an enhancement than a detriment. She dragged her eyes away as she felt her body try to sway toward him, and drew them up to meet his amber gaze. The torment that she saw there was so intense that she gasped. Deep brown pools of vivid, raw emotion tore at her heart, and it was too much to take. She quickly extinguished the light in her hand and took another step back, placing more of the black night between them.

“It’s been a long time,” she began. “There’s no point in pretending that we still know each other, because we don’t.”

She could think of nothing more that needed to be said, so she brushed past him, leaving him alone in the inky darkness. She numbly made her way back to her quarters, wobbling back to rest upon the door as it shut tightly behind her. She grabbed the bottle of whiskey from the table and gulped until the world began to spin, then stumbled toward the bed and let the mattress catch her as she fell.

 

 

++++++++++++++++

 

 

She winced at the blinding light that forced its way through her eyelids. Those damn white mountain peaks seemed to reflect the full force of the sun ten times over, directing painful rays right through her windows and onto her pounding head. She brought her hands to her temples immediately and just laid there, basking in the glow of her own healing. The pounding eased, the tight pain constricting her scalp drained away. She realized bitterly that if she wasn’t a healer, she probably wouldn’t be able to drink so much. There was no way she’d be able to endure an entire day of those pounding hangovers, which would probably have put her off the drink long ago. She’d tried not to overindulge, and most of the time she succeeded at that. But other times, when the trauma of her life reared its ugly head, her good friend whiskey was usually the closest friend around.

When she felt somewhat normal again, she rose and gave herself a quick wash in the washbasin, scrubbing her face and her teeth, dressing in a fresh pair of leathers. She was sure Varric would be making his way over at some point, and she was also sure she’d be seeing that strange little Inquisitor.

She opened her trunk and located an inkwell and some stationary, sitting down to finally write Fenris and let him know she had arrived in Skyhold safely. He would have wanted her to do so yesterday, but she still struggled sometimes to think of things to say to him that wouldn’t inadvertently aggravate the hurt that remained between them. He would always be her friend, she knew that without question. And such a fiercely protective one at that, which was part of why she hadn’t told him when she learned at the last minute that Cullen would be in Skyhold. As the only other soul who knew about the loss that had driven her to walk into the sea, he probably would have insisted upon coming along and not left her side for the entire duration.

If not for that day a year ago, she was certain that she would have let him come. She sighed to herself as she thought about how inverse those experiences with Cullen and Fenris had been. The first time she’d seen Cullen in four years, he was eye level with a child, smiling and laughing. And the day she knew she and Fenris had no romantic future, he’d been glaring hatefully at one.

 

They had found their way to a park in a town and sat in the grass, basking in the long awaited warmth of the sun. It was finally spring again, the trees bursting and verdant, and the air filled with joyful birdsong. Avery found herself smiling as she watched a small girl beside a puddle, sticking her finger in and freezing it solid, only to melt it and do it all over again. Sitting nearby with a book was her watchful mother, a look of pure adulation lighting up her face whenever she glanced at the young girl. Avery’s smile had quickly turned to tears as she blinked back that painful memory of her own loss, and she glanced at Fenris, seeking the comfort he’d become so adept at providing. But instead of finding comfort, she was startled to see him staring at the child with a nasty sneer.

Avery nudged him, hard.

“Stop looking at her like that, Fenris.” she’d hissed, horrified at his open disdain. “What is wrong with you!?”

“She should be in a Circle,” Fenris grumbled, “Children cannot control their magic. She needs to be somewhere that she can be contained. Not running free, risking the lives of others.”

Avery almost laughed. The Circles everywhere were falling apart, rebellions still rising up far and wide, even almost two years after the Chantry explosion. Several Circles had already fallen completely, taking their cue from Kirkwall. She knew Fenris still harbored his deeply ingrained resentment toward magic, even as he claimed to love an apostate himself, but she found herself sitting in utter disbelief, feeling a slow realization creep under her skin. It’d only been a year since the night she finally turned to him in the tent and found his mouth in the dark. She’d thought she loved him again for a little while, and knew that he loved her. But what she felt as she looked at him in that moment was not love. It was fear.

“Sure, just take the poor kid away from her mother, from her family and everything she knows, and stick her in a glorified prison with a bunch of strangers?”

“She could hurt someone,” was all he’d said in response.

“I am walking proof that that is not always the case. And what if that was your own child? You really think they’d be better off anywhere but with the family who loves them?”

“I would not _want_ a child with magic.”

 

She did not feel that a child was in her future anymore at that point anyway, but accidents happened, the way it had with Cullen. When several weeks later she found herself relieved to the point of tears to start her monthly cycle, she realized that she had no desire to live in fear of another accident. How was it even possible that he could love her, possessed of magic as she was? What were his secret thoughts when she conjured up some spell to aid their travels? 

Everything about their relationship had suddenly been quietly called into question. He would be there for her through thick and thin, that she knew. Indeed he already had been. And when it came down to his own flesh and blood, she realized it was possible that he'd end up feeling much differently than he expected to, but she still shuddered to think of Fenris blaming an innocent for something they couldn't help.

Six months later they’d peacefully agreed that she would leave him behind in a Tavern in the Southron Hills and strike out on her own for a little while. They’d found each other again eventually, but nothing had ever been the same between them, and any prospect of romantic entanglement was now completely, permanently squelched.

She picked up the quill and began her letter, keeping her text simple in case he hadn’t had time to study his reading in her absence.

 

_Fenris,_

 

_I made it to Skyhold safely. It is beautiful here, but the journey was rough. I hope you are well. Varric sends his regards. I miss you and will see you soon._

 

_Hawke_


	3. Chapter 3

Varric left again after bringing breakfast and staying to chat for a while, and Avery finally walked out into the sunny day, headed back to the rooftop to clean up the glass she’d left there night before. The whole conversation they’d just had was ringing in her ears, full of unexpected information and new revelations. She took a deep breath of the mountain air, glancing down occasionally into the courtyard. She couldn’t help but scan the bodies for any sign of Cullen, but Varric had said he was about to go speak to the advisors, and Cullen was apparently an advisor. So surely he’d be too busy to be milling about in the courtyard at that moment.

Not that she should be wanting to get another look at him. But part of her hoped that seeing him in the broad daylight might help his flaws to be more visible. Anyone could look good when viewed through a lens soaked in whiskey and softened by the low, sultry lights of sunset. And then the Inquisitor… she still didn’t really know what to think about him. She shook her head as she replayed bits of the conversation with Varric over in her head.

 

“Oh, he knows exactly who you are,” Varric had laughed. “When I first met him, he started grilling me about you and Kirkwall immediately, before he even told me his name. He’s read Tale of the Champion at least five times, or so he says.”

She sighed, “I really wish you hadn’t had pictures put in that book.”

“It’s not like the artist even got everyone’s faces right. Did you see what he did to Fenris? You’d think it was a book designed specifically to scare children.”

“I did see that,” Avery laughed despite herself. “Still, I’ve been recognized more times than I’d like because of it.”

“Well you are sorely mistaken if you think I’m the only one who’s peddled pictures of you,” he snorted. “I’m pretty sure there’s a whole cult of apostates out there who construct shrines in your honor. Plus there’s the underground market for Hawke related memorabilia… I met a fence last year who claimed that these big rocks he was selling were pieces of the Kirkwall Chantry. They might actually have been, too.”

“Well that’s… disturbing.”

“It is. Speaking of, any clue what ever became of Anders?” he asked, then paused, “No wait. Don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.”

Hawke wouldn’t have had anything to tell him on that matter anyway. She knew that he’d fled with a group of other mages from the Circle, just as she’d expected he would, but hadn’t heard hide nor hair about him since.

“Anyway,” Varric continued, “don’t let the Inquisitor fool you. He’s got as big a case of idol worship as anyone else out there, and I know he’d love to add you to his list of conquests.”

“List of conquests?” She raised her eyebrow. She had no desire to be on anyone’s list of anything.

“That’s right. I’m pretty sure him and Tiny have some sort of wager going to see who can claim the highest number. Word’s getting around though, and I think he’s starting to get a little frustrated at his recent lack of takers.”

“Ha! Serves them right!” she cackled. “Also, ‘Tiny’? That’s a new one. Should be easy though. I assume I could probably spot him from up here.” She sighed and looked out the window. She couldn’t actually see down into the courtyard from her room, but sort of wished she could. So far she’d enjoyed the people watching immensely. Skyhold was absolutely full of colorful characters.

“But you know Varric, I am going to have to actually _meet_ some of these people if I’m going to figure out who’s who.”

“Well I’m about to go break the news of your arrival to the advisors, and then I’m sure you’ll get a stream of visitors coming to ask about Corypheus. After that you should be clear to start branching out if you want to head to the Tavern and grab a pint or something. If the Seeker doesn’t kill me first, I’ll try to join you for one later.”

“Well if that Seeker tries to kill you, you let me know and I’ll go kill her right back,” she laughed. “Soooo… the advisors?”

“Ruffles, Curly and Nightingale,” he said.

She nodded, letting out a hearty laugh at the names. Maker how she loved this silly dwarf.

“Curly? Oh… Curly is Cullen, right?” She continued on without waiting for an answer, “Of course he is. So the Inquisition has a Templar for the Commander of the forces and as an advisor to the head honcho? That explains why there are so few mages around. I would have thought you’d _want_ some mages to help deal with that breach thing.”

“Oh he’s not a Templar anymore. The Inquisitor did recruit the remains of the Templars as allies, but Curly had already officially quit the Order before he left Kirkwall.”

“He..? Um… oh.” Avery felt her mouth hanging open in surprise and she clamped it closed. Varric sat quietly and gave her the side eye as she processed the news. That one little line in the letter that Varric sent hadn’t indicated _why_ Cullen was in Skyhold. While she hadn’t expected to discover he Commanded all their armed forces, she wasn’t terribly surprised to learn it. It was his strong sense of duty that had caused him to break things off with her in the first place, and that sort of work ethic usually got a person pretty far. But she had assumed that Cullen was also there as an arm of the Order. She knew the Chantry didn’t approve of the Inquisition, but she figured the Order would have wanted to be involved at the upper levels anyway. Whenever power and influence was concerned, the Order _always_ wanted to be involved.

“Hopefully that… ‘fluke’ that happened between you two at the Gallows doesn’t make things awkward, huh?” Varric teased with a knowing sparkle in his big brown eyes. “It _was_ a fluke, right? You’re still sticking with that story?”

Avery sighed at his obvious suspicion. “Let me guess, Anon told you about last night?”

“That he did. He came right to me to ask what happened between the two of you in Kirkwall. Told him what I knew and there was no way I could convince him that was the whole of it. So tell me Hawke, what am I missing here?”

“Varric, would I have left Kirkwall if there was anything serious between me and Cullen?” she asked, skirting the truth. She preferred that over outright lying most of the time, but in recent months she’d begun to wonder if even that was worth the effort. But old habits died hard. And to think there’d been a time in her life when she thought she was a terrible liar.

“Well that depends I guess,” Varric answered, “but considering that the Templar reinforcements the Chantry sent in all wanted your head, I’d say yes, you had to leave. Even Curly couldn’t have stopped that lynch mob.”

 

 

 

As she swept up the pieces of glass, she recalled the night Anders walked in on her cutting apples in the kitchen, when Cullen was upstairs in her bed. Cullen had asked her how it was she’d gotten as far as she had in Kirkwall without learning to lie, and she’d answered that was because she usually just didn’t. And at that point in her life, that had been the truth. But since then, lying seemed like almost all she ever did. Fenris was the only one who knew about Cullen, but even he didn’t know that they’d made plans to run away together. Varric hadn’t been there for the miscarriage, but Fenris had written Varric several days afterward, and within a week Varric was knocking on the door to the room they’d rented at a nearby Inn. So many of those days afterward were a blur, while the two men traded off taking care of her, making sure she ate, she bathed, she woke up safe every morning. And she knew that Fenris had honored her desperate request not to tell Varric, about Cullen, about the morning she woke up in a pool of blood, about so many things. She had thanked him for that, but would it really have been so bad if Fenris hadn’t had to shoulder that burden alone? Not only had she lied, but she made Fenris lie _for_ her. And he had. A heavy boulder of guilt settled uneasily in her stomach. What a shitty friend she had been.

How had everything gone so wrong?

She knew the answer to that of course. It had all happened because she fell in love with a man that she shouldn’t have.

Avery carried the pan containing the shards of glass inside her quarters to the bin, and dropped them inside with a musical clink. She didn’t know how long she stood there looking down into the dregs of the wastebin, how long she stared into space as she thought about the course of the last few years, and how different they might have been if she’d actually let the people in her life help her, _truly_ help her. But when she finally walked away and emerged back out to the rooftop, she had decided that she was done with lying to her friends. She wasn’t even sure why she was keeping the story from Varric in the first place. For so long it had been because she simply didn’t want to talk about it, didn’t want to rehash the story and bring it back to the forefront of her memory. But it was already there now, occupying her mind at the expense of everything else. She’d made it past that scary point in her life when she couldn’t seem to find a reason to live, she’d survived her first meeting with Cullen. So what did it matter anymore if Varric knew? What had lying so much ever done, other than isolate her from the people she cared about, and who cared about her?

Not only would she tell Varric the truth, but she vowed never again to enter a relationship of any kind that was built upon a secret.

 

 

++++++++++++++++

 

 

The procession of people asking about Corypheus had come. The first was the Inquisitor, his cocky, flirtatious self completely replaced by a focused, thorough seriousness. She told him all that she knew and eventually conversation drifted toward Kirkwall and Anders and Meredith. She indulged him for a while, slowly coming to the realization that part of his fascination with her had to do with the immense pressure placed upon his own shoulders. Whatever distasteful first impression he’d made with his questioning her about Cullen seemed to fade away, and she decided she would very much like to get to know the young man, despite everything that Varric had to say about his ‘list of conquests’ and ongoing wager.

After that, the Nightingale. She’d thought that title sounded familiar, and it turned out to be the petite, red-headed rogue she met once in the Viscount’s Keep. Back then, she was the left hand to the Divine, delivering a warning for Elthina to leave the Chantry. A warning Elthina didn’t heed. And then Josephine, obviously ‘Ruffles’, who was simply adorable. After over an hour of chatting about everything under the sun, Josephine slipped away only to be replaced by the severe, but strangely awe-struck Seeker. Avery liked them all, and was surprised to find herself more disappointed than relieved when Cullen did not follow the stream of impressive and competent women.

 

Eventually she ended up down in the courtyard, having finally descended the stairs and walked through the grass for a bit, looking around at the walls of stone and climbing ivy, the clusters of people who were palpably enthused and energized by their purpose there. Before she finally turned to walk into the Tavern, she caught a glimpse of Cullen across the grounds. She froze in place, unable to look away as he stalked from the main building of Skyhold and toward his office, his face drawn in an expression of sullen seriousness. She cursed her body silently as that automatic physical reaction to him fired up again, against everything she had hoped it would do in that situation. Whatever flaws she expected to see in the sober brightness of daylight did not exist, at least not from that distance. And he was clearly oblivious to the looks of admiration and reverence on the faces of the women near him as he walked, his face cast down to the grass, his mind obviously occupied by something heavy and troubling. This was not the easy smile she saw yesterday, when he was kneeling on the grass and engaging a small boy in conversation.

Before he disappeared under the arch of a pathway, he stopped and looked up toward her rooftop. But she was not there. She watched him linger, his eyes searching the empty platform and waiting, waiting… to see what? He was waiting to see.... _something_. Her, possibly? Or maybe to see if his colleagues were still in the middle of their meetings with her. But why hadn’t he come? Did he not want to know what she knew about Corypheus and the Grey Wardens? Or was he trusting that he could just get all the information he needed from the many others who’d visited her? Her heart sank, burying itself deep in the residing well of sorrow in her chest. 

She recalled the parting line she’d delivered before she ran back to her quarters. She probably could have been kinder. Despite whatever resentment she still might have harbored for the way he had broken things off, she at least could have tried to be a bigger person than to say something hurtful and then run away.

He broke his gaze from the roof, and began scanning the grounds of the courtyard. Her breath caught in her throat as he slowly turned, and eventually, his eyes landed upon her. She felt it as an almost physical sensation, his gaze catching hers, hooking on and digging in, and then just staring from across the lawn. Her heart was beating hard against her ears and the walls of her chest, and a rush of cold water nervousness spread up her back from that aching center of her gut. Once again, just like the night before, they just looked at each other from opposite ends of a cruel expanse of space. She instantly began to feel awkward and anxious. She didn’t know what to do with her hands, or how she should stand. Should she pretend she didn't see him? Should she wave? Should she smile? Shrug? Walk away? What could she do or say that wasn’t a complete contradiction to her own parting words from last night?

As if feeling the same thing, he turned and took a step toward her, but then stopped himself. He fidgeted for a moment and then shook his head and started continuing along the path he was originally traveling.

She sighed, confused and annoyed at her own disappointment. She reminded herself that what she had said was absolutely true. They _didn’t_ know each other any more. There was no use in pretending. Four years was a long time, and she’d died and been reborn numerous times in those four years. She was reborn into a cold, distant nomad who severed most of the connections she’d had with people from her past, and who made few, if any new connections with anyone at all. She was reborn into a woman who let go of all her hopes for a family and a future, her hopes of setting down roots and carving out a secure place in the world. She had been multiple different people since Cullen had walked away from her in the Gallows, including becoming someone who no longer believed in the enduring, transformative power of love.

She swallowed down the swelling ache in her throat and made her way to the Tavern. She glanced back for the briefest moment in midstep, and saw that he’d stopped again and was watching her disappear through the Tavern door.

 

 

 

+++++++++++++++

 

 

She was drunk again. Not just tipsy like the night before, but good and truly drunk. She’d thrown her hair back into a messy ponytail and grabbed a stool at the furthest edge at the bar, quietly sipping glass after glass of whiskey as she listened to the conversations of the other patrons. Several of them had been there for a while, and gave no notice to the volume of their voices or the topics of their discussion, growing downright raunchy at times, much to Avery’s delight. She was pretty sure she’d identified ‘Tiny’, a hulking beast of Qunari with an eyepatch and a gaggle of women hanging on his every word. As she listened, she was waiting for Varric, planning out exactly how the conversation was going to go. “Look, there’s something I need to tell you. A lot, actually,” she’d begin. She’d apologize for lying, years ago and again that very morning. She’d share with him her realization that she never wanted to have to lie again. She was tired. Tired of trying to remember what she’d already told the few people she still cared about so that she didn’t say something contradictory and expose herself, tired of eluding questions and blocking people out even when they were trying to help her. She’d tell him that it was true there was much more to her history with Cullen, and if he had questions, she would answer them, and answer honestly. She had loved Cullen. It had only been a few months of her life, but she had never loved anything or anyone that much either before or since. She was struggling just being there, much more than she expected to struggle. That maybe just blocking it all out for four years was counter-productive because it hadn’t really allowed her to _deal_ with it.

Or, maybe she’d just go with the flow. She’d just let the conversation happen organically. If she still had any brain cells left to even hold a conversation by the time Varric finally showed up. She motioned Cabot for another round and glanced around the room, trying to find a window so she could look outside and see the state of the sun. It could very well already be evening for all she knew, sitting as she was in yet another drunken stupor. If there was anything she could do well, she mused, it was drink. She was an expert drinker, an alcohol assassin. She laughed stupidly at herself, realizing with the first sip of the fresh glass that the bartender slid over to her that she was overdoing it. If she kept going at this rate, she wouldn’t even be able to hold the all-important conversation with Varric that she was dying to have. She couldn’t wait for him to know everything, to get that monkey off her back, _finally_.

She had her face resting heavily in her hands when she heard a body drop into the empty stool beside her. She pulled her head up to greet Varric and laughed again. She laughed loudly, maniacally almost. _Of course._ She slid her fresh glass of whiskey over to him.

“Here, you can have this,” she said and then let her head fall onto the bartop with a thunk.

She heard an audible gulp as the whiskey was swallowed down, and then Cullen’s voice calling “Another!” across the bar.

 

In time, she picked her head back up. She wasn’t sure in that moment if she was glad to be intoxicated again, or if it was the worst possible thing that could happen. He would probably think she had a problem. She probably _did_ have a problem. But it was too late now. Her stomach was full of whiskey and her head was swimming. Eventually Cullen began to speak to her, and she kept her eyes pointed down, inspecting the grimy grain of the wooden bar top.

“So, you’re right that we don’t know each other anymore,” he began. “But I would like to get to know you again, if you would let me.” She dragged her eyes over to him, looking at him through a blurry, unsteady haze. Those words he just spoke sounded nice enough, she figured. Get to know him again. Why not? She nodded.

Cabot filled Cullen’s glass with a fragrant caramel liquid and she laughed again, realizing that that they used to drink whiskey together in her home in Kirkwall, back before everything went to shit. No, everything had already been shit. It had just gone to even more shit. A massive, steaming, blood soaked pile of excrement. And then she realized that it was shit that had actually helped turn everything to even more shit! Anders used shit to help blow up the Chantry! Shit on top of shit on top of shit. Her laugher wound completely out of control, even as she realized somewhere deep down that it wasn’t actually funny. But if she didn’t laugh, she would cry. And the last thing she wanted to do at a bar beside Cullen was cry. And he was drinking too, his glass full of that gorgeous amber liquid that looked so much like his gorgeous amber eyes. She tried to sit up and felt the world sway around her. But she felt loose. She didn’t feel that crushing anxiety from the night before. Because it didn’t matter. Nothing really mattered, at least not at that moment. She was drunk and she felt good, and fuck, at least she wasn’t living in Kirkwall, fearing for her and his life under that crazy bitch Meredith. Some tiny piece of rational brain noted the spark of concern in his eyes as he watched her laugh incoherently, but it faded fast.

Instead of lecture her or tell her she should probably go sleep it off, he downed his second glass and ordered another. She watched Cabot furrow his brows in surprise, and she laughed some more. She laughed until her cheeks and stomach hurt.

“I think you’re done sweetheart,” Cabot said.

She just shrugged, her laugher turning to a girlish giggle. “You are SO right about that!”

Cullen’s wide, amused smile was almost enough to knock her out of her little fit, but instead it just relaxed her. Maybe they did still know each other. Maybe it wasn’t a big deal if they just spoke to each other like people, people who used to be friends, or strangers who comforted each other like they had. Or whatever they were outside of being madly, crazy in love. At the very least they were people who knew something about a crazy moment in time that so few others could understand.

Instead of saying anything intelligent or rational, she heard herself blurt out, “Damnit Cullen! You’re still so fucking beautiful. Have some mercy on a poor suffering girl.”

He laughed too, his pupils huge and black, his cheeks flushed pink. Her eyes lingered on his new scar, on those familiar lips, on that ever-present stubble that her fingers were twitching to graze.

“So are you,” he said eventually. She heard the liquor in his voice, working fast. He probably didn’t drink much, she figured. The Commander of the Inquisition had too many responsibilities to indulge in drunken antics in the Tavern. But there he was.

He downed another glass and called immediately for another refill. That little coherent piece of her brain realized that he was plunging in right alongside her, joining her in a drunken, illogical, ill-advised oblivion. She wondered vaguely what people might think to see the Commander of the infamous Inquisition getting shitfaced at a bar with a giggly lush such as herself. And she realized she didn’t care. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jeez, these are coming so fast even I can barely keep up with them. I hope I'm not overwhelming you guys. I am sure I won't be able to keep up this pace forever.
> 
> Please let me know if the events of this chapter came too soon. I like a slow burn as much as the next person, but... well, I also like getting to the action. ;)

The crash that woke her in the dark hours of the morning only made her head throb harder. She applied her usual hangover cure automatically, needing no rational thought to execute what was now a fully ingrained habit, and then she sat up, feeling the room still swim around her as she moved. The darkness settled into recognizable shapes, black boxes of shadow that represented familiar furnishings. She was used to waking up in unknown places now. The rooms were always different, big and small, with different configurations and decor. Boarding rooms in Orlais came in all ranges of luxury and every once in a while she and Fenris would splurge for some place really nice. Places with gleaming copper tubs, and thick furs for rugs. This was one of the mid-level rooms, spacious but sparsely decorated.

Wait… no, this wasn’t an Inn or a room at a Tavern. It came back to her in a rush: she was at Skyhold. She blinked through the space, trying to find the source of the crash that had woken her. Something moved, a wooden table leg screeched against the floor. She reached under the pillow for the dagger she always kept close and pounced out of bed. She had to take a few steps to steady herself, to keep her body from listing so far that she lost her balance completely. The throbbing ache might have subsided, but her stomach churned and traces of alcohol still rushed through her veins. Pieces of the night before came flashing back, fuzzy and distant. A softness under her foot alerted her to the presence of a scrunched up blanket on the floor. Her heart dropped as she remembered faintly who she had spent the evening with.

She let go of her dagger.

“Cullen?” she asked. She located his shadow in the darkness, leaning back against the table.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. Maker, he was the one who’d always had such a hard time in the night, yet he was always the one apologizing. As though her quick fright could possibly have been worse than whatever nightmare had wrenched him not just from sleep, but completely out of bed.

“Still bad, huh?” she asked. She saw his black silhouette nod.

“Without lyrium they’re worse,” he said quietly. For the hundredth time since she’d arrived, she was shocked into place. With _out_ lyrium? Her brain was still too muddled to process it, all of it. And there was so very much that needed processing. The first of which being why exactly Cullen was in her room in the middle of the night. Her clothing was on. Her body felt… normal… But there was a blanket on the floor.

“Why are you…?” She began to ask, but she hesitated. She didn’t want to sound like she didn’t want him there. Wait, did she want him there?

“Don’t worry, I was on the floor. I was a little too… out of it to walk to my own quarters,” he explained softly. “And I didn’t know if you might need anything…”

She took a cautious step toward him. Surely he was feeling the painful after effects of the liquor too. The thought of him returning to the hard floor beside her bed didn’t sit well with her. The thought of him coming to her bed with her sat even worse. The temptation would be too great… too _welcome_.

“I can go now though,” he said, as if reading her mind. But she didn’t want that either.

He pushed himself off the table he had crashed against and located his boots. In the dark he found a chair, and had them on much more quickly than she was prepared for. She stood numbly and watched him. She was surprised at the lack of… _everything_ that was running through her. She winced at the possibilities of what could have happened between them at the bar, but the longer she searched her memory the more she only came up with dimness and blank spots. But she wasn’t overwhelmed with the usual emotions. She wasn’t about to panic or cry or collapse into a puddle. She felt strangely peaceful. A little regretful perhaps. A little wary. A little confused. Maybe the drunkenness had done her good. Maybe all the strenuous laughing had unblocked something in her, letting her spill out years of pent up frustration and anger.

Maybe _Cullen_ had been good for her, his presence still as soothing and comforting as it had been in Kirkwall.

He paused after putting on his boots to rub at his temples and squeeze his brow. She closed the distance between them and brushed her hand against his head, knowing he had to have needed healing as badly or worse than she had. His hair was soft against her fingers and he groaned almost inaudibly as she worked her magic, resting his head for a second against her palm. It was the first time she’d touched him in four years, and she could have stayed right there for hours.

A memory came back from the night before, not of an action but of a thought, an observation she’d made at least several times as she sat beside him at the bar, and then stood beside him in the courtyard. A memory of a question, asking how in the Void it was possible that she was still so drawn to him. So time much and hurt between them and her body still responded to the memory of him like their affair had only ended yesterday. It was physical, and emotional and something else, something deep, and necessary and incomprehensible. Like the hand of the Maker. If anything, it was stronger precisely because she knew how it felt to be loved by him, however long ago that might have been. The magnetism was undeniable and overwhelming. She had no idea how she was fighting it.

She’d said over and over to herself on the journey there that it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter if he was there, or that they’d once shared so much. It was all immaterial, that nothing in her life could possibly be different just because a relic of her past was close by. But did it really matter? She’d lied so much to all her friends, and it seemed she hardly noticed how much and how often she also lied to herself. Indeed it seemed that the harder she lied, the stronger the truth behind the lie was.

He pulled away and stood up from the chair, disappearing quietly out the door, his shadow as he passed momentarily darkening her window.

He didn’t even say goodbye. Had she done something wrong? Of course she’d probably done something wrong. She was a mess, a liar, and she’d gotten sloppy drunk and of course she’d found a way to make a fool of herself somewhere in the night. It probably would have been impossible for her not to, with all her myriad issues and traumas and secrets. Repressing so much emotion never worked forever; those things would still always find a way to come out somehow. They’d just come out sideways and distorted, as a nasty comment about something completely unrelated, or a twisted desire that made people uncomfortable. Like the time she and Fenris had been fucking and she asked him to choke her, harder, _harder. Do it like you mean it._ Neither of them understood why she’d made that request, but she wanted it all the same, some escaped remnant of a self-destructive impulse that only made him recoil and pull away from her.

She just didn’t know what had happened this time. Or, perhaps he was just realizing that this was not what he wanted after all. She was too much of a mess, carried around too much baggage now. Who would really want the heavy, depressing project of trying to have a relationship with her after all the shit she’d endured?

Yet, she was strangely unconcerned. Probably just too tired to deal with it at the moment. It would all hit her later, and she should try to actually deal with it then, without the aid of alcohol. She sighed wearily and collapsed back into bed.

 

When the sky was light and she woke again, she still felt deeply numb. She embraced it, shrugging off the weirdness of the night and early morning, and stood to begin her morning routine. Today she should really take a bath. A nice long soak in some hot water sounded like just the balm she needed. The sky outside was grey and milky, threatening rain or snow or some kind of weather. Whatever it was that this strange magical fortress in the mountains got. She changed into her leathers and sat at her table with a large glass of water. Varric should be along with breakfast at some point, and they had much to discuss. Though she supposed she was now free to go find breakfast herself.

 

She was staring idly into space, looking at the words on the pages of her book but not really reading them when the knock on her door came. She opened the door expecting Varric, but instead stood a lanky elf with long, dark blond hair and twinkling black eyes.

“Good morning Serah Hawke. Has anyone given you the official Skyhold tour yet?” he asked pleasantly.

“Well… no,” she answered. She was sure Varric would have when he’d had the time. Apparently he’d been busy. She wondered finally why he’d never made an appearance at the Tavern the night before. Perhaps that Seeker woman was giving him a much harder time than he anticipated.

“May I?” he asked as he held out his elbow. She shrugged, and slid her hand around his arm. She held lightly, not wanting to give him any wrong impressions. They walked out into the grey day, and took slow steps along the battlements as Anon pointed out buildings and identified people. She was only barely present, but tried to make mental note of all the locations and services available. The cluster of tents she saw when she’d first arrived belonged to the makeshift infirmary, overseen by a field surgeon who handled injuries whenever there wasn’t a healer available. She had correctly identified the barn that she thought was a stable, and he promised that they’d make their way down there eventually so she could see the menagerie of exotic mounts that the large building housed. They completed a full round of the battlement paths and then he led her across a courtyard to the smithy, and then the dungeons, and then the market tables.

The inhabitants of the stables were a sight, but they were also an assault on her nose. The strange scents that inundated her when they entered were enough to make her whiskey-burnt stomach begin to roil uneasily, and she held her breath and asked to come back some other time. He chattered in her ear, asking her more questions about Kirkwall and the Arishok duel. She pulled up her leathers and showed him the large scar that cut across her back from the the time she took a half-hearted backswing of the Arishok’s sword. If it had been one delivered with his full strength, she told him, she had no doubt that she wouldn’t be standing there just then. Mostly her mind was too occupied to fully engage him in conversation. She was quietly flailing to remember what had happened with Cullen at the tavern, what she could have said or done to put him off so quickly that morning.

Her eyes regularly made their way toward the tower of his office and when Anon was finally leading her toward the Great Hall, she saw the distant shape of a red and black form exit the front door of Cullen’s tower. Her breath caught in her throat as it seemed at one point that he saw her too. He descended the steps, his face turned and facing directly toward her, though the details of his expression were lost in the expanse of space. Anon noticed her staring and turned to follow her gaze.

“Ah, yes. The Commander again,” he said amusedly. “It’s a shame he’s kind of a stick-in-the-mud. I bet he’s got lots of interesting stories. He’s refused to speak much about his time in Kirkwall with me.”

She had to look away to begin her climb up the steps to the main door, but before she turned away she noted that Cullen seemed to have the same destination in mind, quickly closing the distance and heading straight for the stairs.

“Why doesn’t he like you?” she asked Anon. He laughed heartily.

“Oh you noticed. He, um, doesn’t approve of some of my… extracurricular activities,” he explained.

“You mean like the wager you have with that Qunari?”

He laughed again. “I guess word really did get around, huh? Well there’s nothing wrong with having a little fun, is there?” he asked. “Besides, I am losing to Bull by a pretty wide margin. The ladies, and men, can’t resist him. It’s kind of hurting my confidence.”

She felt Anon’s hand settle lightly on the small of her back as he opened the door to the Great Hall for her. She squirmed away from his touch, aware that somewhere behind them Cullen was watching. She turned as they took their first few steps inside and issued a polite warning.

“Well don’t think for a second that I am going to help you close the gap in this wager of yours,” she said, keeping her tone light but serious enough for him to get the point.

“Yes, I could tell right away you’d be a tough nut to crack. But that’s okay, I like nuts.” He said, issuing a challenge of his own.

“If it’s nuts you’re after, you’re barking up the wrong tree,” she said. He laughed loudly again, and Avery’s eyes landed happily upon Varric, standing several paces away.

“I see what you did there,” he said approvingly. “Because trees don’t all have nuts… and you’re a woman…” he said.

She rolled her eyes, but couldn’t help but laugh at him.

“Anyway, thank you for the tour Inquisitor, but you can leave me off here,” she said politely. “I have business to discuss with Varric.”

He was smirking at her, shining his big black eyes down his aquiline nose and curved lips. She just laughed again. The kid didn’t seem to have any issues with his confidence that she could see. She heard the large wood door open behind her and close heavily again.

“Anytime Serah Hawke. I am at your service,” he said with a dramatic bow. The heavy steps behind them stopped. Avery’s heart fluttered at the knowledge of who they belonged to.

“If you are quite finished, perhaps you could stop blocking the path?” Cullen asked from behind them. Avery turned to take in his slight scowl of disapproval. His gaze flicked over to hers and softened a little bit, but not entirely. She searched his face, trying to discern exactly how much of that disapproval was aimed at her, and only grew more worried that she had seriously messed up somewhere. His brow eventually relaxed, but his eyes still seemed troubled.

“Of course Commander,” Anon said pleasantly, and he nodded a quick goodbye to Avery and then headed deeper into the Hall.

Cullen lingered for only a second, appraising her quietly in a way that made an anxious prickle crawl up her skin. She obviously needed to talk to him sometime, alone. She needed to apologize, see what he remembered, if he could enlighten her on what exactly it was that she had done.

His amber eyes turned deeply sad as he nodded a quick farewell to her, and walked wordlessly away. She sighed, feeling thankful for the peculiar and enduring numbness that seemed to be keeping her on an even keel in the aftermath of the night before. She was sure she should have been a much bigger mess, but the Maker must have smiled upon her that morning, granted her a brief reprieve from her usual torment. She sighed and turned to Varric, ready to get that conversation over with.

 

“Hawke,” he said with a knowing glint. Of course he had watched that whole interaction.

“Varric… is there somewhere close that we can talk privately?” she asked him. He nodded, and waved her along.

 

When it was done, Varric hugged her much more tightly than she was prepared for. She almost felt worse after the conversation, the guilt of hiding so much from him coursing strongly through her, mixing strangely with the equal intensity of the relief she felt to finally have come clean. Thankfully Varric was quick to crack a few jokes and restore their usual lighthearted banter as they meandered around the impressive expanse of the Great Hall. Everything seemed like it was going to be okay, between them at least. He showed her to the kitchens where she could come get her meals, and then out to the gardens where fat drops of rain had begun to fall. They sat under a covered pathway and talked until the morning became afternoon, and then afternoon became late afternoon.

Varric eventually sighed and said he had a few things to take care of, and in parting she asked about getting a bath sent to her room. She left him behind in the same place she’d come upon him, feeling as though a hundred pounds had been lifted off her back.

She emerged out into the rain and took a deep breath of the drenched mountain air, eyeing the saturated courtyard and wistfully looking forward to the bath. She hoped it could be sent out quickly, as the rain was cold and she had a lot of space to cross to the steps that would lead her back to her quarters.

She put her head down and sprinted out into it. Hard drops of water pummeled the top of her head, and she felt soaked to the skin within seconds. Beyond the outer Skyhold wall, the mountains were hidden in a white, cloudy haze, the downpour out there more likely to be snow than rain. Halfway across the courtyard she heard the sound of wood on wood and the echo of deep male grunting. The sound was coming from the same direction she was headed, and as she made her way through the mists it became clear what she was looking at. Her heart jumped into her throat the sight. Cullen was sparring, practicing against a collection of wooden dummies that were tucked into a sheltered expanse of grass. She stood for a moment, unsure if what she was seeing was real or a dream. Not only was he out in the rain hitting the wooden dummies with all the strength he possessed, but he was doing so completely bare chested. Somewhere within her stunned reverie she figured it made sense that he wouldn’t want to expose his impressive uniform to a torrent of icy rain. At the very least he could have kept a tunic. Even as she thought it she saw a ball of wet, white cloth sitting soaked and muddy near his feet.

His skin was flushed pink and glistening, but it was difficult to admire him when he was also so visibly angry.

She shivered just looking at him, feeling the water running coldly under her leathers, pooling in her boots and streaming into her ears and mouth. She supposed practicing that hard would probably keep him warm enough. For a moment she forgot about her own coldness as she watched him, the rippling muscles of his battle-scarred back, the solid bulk of his strong arms. The soaked curls of his hair hung loose over his ears and forehead. He was wild and powerful and she could have cried at his impossible, almost frightening beauty.

But he was obviously in no state to want to talk. What could have put him into such a fury? Was it Anon? Was it her? Had whatever she’d said or done the night before really been _that_ bad?

 

She had to pass right by him to get to her stairs. As much as she wanted to stay right there and watch him destroy his targets, the icy rain was making her teeth chatter, and she didn’t imagine he’d be pleased to discover he was being watched. Nervously, she resumed her steps toward the stairs, eyes glued to him as she moved, splashing her way toward her quarters and knowing he’d see her at some point. Her heart was pounding against her ribs with the same force as the blows that rained upon that doomed wooden dummy.

Finally she caught his eye and he stopped in mid-blow, looking at her with a heaving chest.

“I see you managed to fight your shirt off,” she teased dryly, and then wondered why on earth she thought it was a good idea to make a joke at him.

He dropped his wooden baton and turned to come straight for her. She froze in place, heart quickening frantically. If this had been anyone else, she would have expected to get hit, but despite the aggression in his posture his face was somber, his eyes filled with an anguish that didn’t say violence, it said heartbreak.

“Do you have a moment?” he panted as he came to a stop before her. She looked up at the rain and almost laughed. Of all the places and times for a word. But oh well, if this was where he wanted to speak, then so be it.

She nodded.

“I need to ask you…” he began, some inner conflict darkening his eyes, “What do you remember about last night?”

She almost laughed again, bewildering herself at this impulse toward a completely inappropriate reaction. But she wasn’t sure how else to deal with this intense sight before her.

“I was actually hoping you might fill me in a little. I… don’t recall much,” she answered finally. “I’m sorry for whatever I said, or did or… I know I was probably a complete ass…”

She shook his head in confusion for a moment. “What? No, love, you were fine. You were… sad and beautiful and hysterical and yet… we had a really nice time.”

Avery blinked dumbly as she processed the words. That was not at all what she was expecting to hear.

“No… what I need to ask… do you remember anyone speaking to you? Anyone besides me?” he said cautiously. “A kid?”

It took her a moment to understand the question. There was precious little she remembered about whatever they’d said or done last night. She searched her memory, running through that bank of erratic, out of order images that seemed like they could slip away from her grasp completely at any moment.

“A kid in the bar!?” she laughed, “You mean, like a _kid_ kid? How young?”

Cullen shook his head. “No, he’s older… I don’t really know how old... 20 maybe? Skinny, pale. Big, ridiculous hat?”

She laughed again at the description, but the laugh died when Cullen still registered no humor, and only watched her carefully.

“White hair? Speaks kind of funny?” he continued.

Again she looked inward, calling up the dimmest images that she could muster forth from the night before. She saw the bar, Cabot chatting with the other patrons. Cullen’s face, Cullen laughing, talking about the stench of Darktown and stories he’d heard about the Blooming Rose from other Templars. She remembered finishing the last full glass of whiskey that Cullen had ordered, but found himself too drunk to want to touch. She recalled that being the one drink that finally knocked her fully on her ass and Cabot staring disapprovingly at her as she threw it back. She recalled stumbling out of the front door of the tavern with Cullen’s hand on the small of her back, supporting her as she took wobbly steps. And then looking up into more stars than she’d ever seen in her life. She had a flash of Cullen’s eyes turning soft for a moment, and her wanting desperately to lean in and kiss him. She remembered not wanting the night to end.

“No. No I don’t remember anyone like that,” she answered finally.

“Well, that would be Cole…” Cullen said, “he’s… I don’t really know what he is to be honest.”

Cullen paused a moment, more words poised on the tip of his tongue.

“He came to find you. Said some… things. Lots of things, actually. Most of it I didn’t really understand, but… some of it made sense.”

Avery frowned, feeling more confused by the second. A skinny kid with white hair and a ridiculous hat, finding her and talking to her. She was absolutely certain she’d remember that. She felt herself again wanting to smile, to laugh, to make Cullen crack and admit whatever the joke was. But the expression on his face was still alarmingly grave.

“He whispered into your ear. You cried for a minute. And then you were… fine,” he said. Slowly, the hair on Avery’s arms rose into goosebumps, and her shivering intensified, combining with some uneasy sense of being out of her body. She could find nothing whatsoever in her memory that sounded anything like that. She was utterly unnerved.

Cullen look down and frowned, and then took a step toward her, hovering close. The look in his eyes when he glanced back up at her, deep and full of hurt, was startling. “But some of the other things he said…”

He brought a hand forward and placed it under her navel, pressing firmly into her belly. His hand was surprisingly warm, she could feel the heat burning even through the thickness of her leathers. Slight wisps of steam rose off his shoulders as the cold rain continued to stream down his sculpted chest. He just held his hand there, looking at her with an ocean of pain churning behind heavy, reddening lids. Without knowing how, she knew what he was going to ask.

“When you left Kirkwall… were you…? I mean, did you…”

He didn’t need to finish. She nodded her head. The ache that usually welled up in her at the memory didn’t come, at least not so hard that it threatened to knock her flat like she was used to.

“Why didn’t you stay?” he asked softly, “I would have… things would have been different. I would never have…”

She shook her head and slid both her hands over his, holding him tightly against her. She distantly noticed the presence of a metal band on one of his fingers.

“I didn’t know, Cullen,” she said sadly. “I didn’t know until it was gone.”

He pulled her in with a quick jerk, wrapping his arms tight around her and in an instant she was filled with an insatiable hunger for him, to be closer, to pull his flesh until it was molded airtight against hers. Cullen was shaking. He was the one holding her, but she felt in his trembling arms that he was the one who needed to be held, he was the one who was seeking the comfort. She was shocked at her own calmness. Four years she could still barely think of that morning without crying on most days, but the sadness she felt now was dull and far away, eclipsed by her aching compassion for the man in her arms. She rubbed his back, as he had once said that his mother used to do.

They stood in each other’s arms long enough for the warmth of Cullen’s body to dissipate, and for him to start to shiver. He pulled back and brushed the soaking hair away from her face, his cold wet fingers impossibly tender. She confirmed with a hitched breath what she thought she felt on his hand: the band they’d bought him at the mountain town market, the one with two flat strips of metal entwining around each other. She pressed herself close, her heart melting into him, giving itself over with a grateful relief.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m so sorry. Could you ever forgive me?”

She was nodding her assent before he’d finished the question, but he only continued speaking, his voice needful and raspy.

“Will you have me back? Please, I’ve never stopped thinking about you. Please come back to me Avery,” he asked, but she was still nodding, she hadn’t stopped. She’d already said yes, and she’d continue to say yes, a million yeses.

“But, Cullen,” she breathed. “I have no desire to hide anymore. I am tired of secrets. If we’re together, then we are _together_. Openly.”

His sullen stare drew up into a a relieved smile. “There’s no need to hide anything here my love. Everything is different now.”

She exhaled a long shaky breath, still unsure that any of this was even real. Any moment now she would wake. She’d probably be on some hard lumpy ground in the tent with Fenris. She’d be far away and dragging herself through the days like a walking corpse, seeking an unending horizon that never satisfied her, never gave her the meaning that she needed. If not for the icy cold shower still drenching them both, she wouldn’t have known that she hadn’t died and ascended to some fantastical heaven.

She gripped his hand, feeling the cold seep down into her bones, and pulled toward the stone stairs to her quarters.

She didn’t remember climbing them, didn’t remember when the door opened. Didn’t remember a whole lot of things apparently, but there was no room for those things anyway when finally she had his mouth upon hers in deep, searching kiss. She groaned immediately as those beautiful, familiar lips held hers, hard and fast, and he was real, and he was there and everything was okay. It was more than okay. Everything was brand new, but still echoing with the memory of something that had been great. The memory was distant and close, somehow simultaneously. Distant enough to nurture the ache, the _need_ , teasing it into an unbearable intensity that was unlike anything she’d ever known. Close enough to promise that all the heartache would be ameliorated, that what they had could be recaptured. It had been lost for a while, but it was lost no longer. She had been found.

Avery broke away and walked purposefully toward her trunk, grabbing the coinpurse off the top of the pile of belongings she brought in with her. Deep at the bottom she found what she sought, a slender, amber colored ring that she slipped back onto her finger. She turned and walked back toward Cullen, seeing golden eyes so lit up with fire they could have burned the whole fortress down. She started working furiously as the clasps of her leathers, letting the drenched, half-frozen pieces fall heavily to the floor.

“Someone once told me that the best way to get warm was bare skin on bare skin,” she said.

Cullen smiled, surging forward to assist her with buckles and straps. He kissed her again while their hands worked and she tasted mint and the faintest hint of chamomile.

 

A knock at the door cut through their frenzy. She froze as she looked to the door. Varric? Anon? Or the bath? Maker, she already had so many wonderful memories of Cullen in baths. She sprinted over, seeing a hooded guard shielding himself from the rain outside the door. She cracked it open but kept her partially undressed body behind the bulk of the wood, revealing only her exasperated face. _Bring the bath in and leave!_ Cullen approached behind her, still donning his breeches and apparently unafraid to be seen. She smiled at the gesture, even as she impatiently urged the guard to speak.

“A message from the Inquisitor Serah. He says to ready your gear, as you’re departing with him for Crestwood at dawn.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, FLUFF AND SMUT IMMINENT.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I gotta say, I am a little excited about the coming chapters. This one was almost much, much longer, but I decided to break it up a bit. :)

 

 

Avery closed the door with a grumble, clamping her mouth shut to calm the insistent chattering of her teeth. She grudgingly reminded herself that despite her disappointment at having to leave so soon, this was why she was in Skyhold in the first place. But they only needed to find the cave that Stroud was camped in and let the Inquisitor get whatever information from him that he could. Hopefully they would find nothing during the trip to delay their return and she could be back in Skyhold in less than a fortnight. In a perfect world, that just might happen. How she wished that she actually lived in a perfect world.

The room was frigid, the stone floor biting against her bare feet like some dry glacial ice. Cullen too shivered as they worked to remove the remains of their soaked clothing, rushing to be free of the clinging cold. She was torn between the desire to be up against him and to just stand there and admire the body she had missed so much. But it was tough to believe that time enough existed for that. She needed to get under the sheets with him, get his arms around her again before this dream ended, before she woke up alone and hungover.  
The covers on the bed were thrown back and yelps of shock sounded off as freezing feet and hands wrapped into clammy nooks of flesh. Cullen groaned as they settled close and pulled the blankets around them, a desperately missed sound that played in her ears like music. She wanted to go in for more kisses, but she was also wary of rushing too fast. If this was going to happen, she didn't want to risk anything by taking a hasty misstep.

And, Maker, there he just  _was_ , some pieces of him swallowing her up in warm caresses, other pieces only inches away and filling her vision with an intoxicating tapestry of beauty. The flesh of his throat, that perfect jaw, those strong, rounded shoulders, the broad palms cupping and squeezing at her back, her thighs, her buttocks. His hair was still loose and heavy with rain, dripping spots of moisture onto her pillow. She fell for a moment into the changing browns of his eyes, smiling down at her even as they remained quietly troubled. Oh this beautiful man. This face that haunted her heart, the memory of kisses and words that hammered away at every wall she'd ever erected to try to keep herself from crumbling. Could it really be true that he wanted her back? Could it really be this easy?

The answer came in the squeeze of his arms, the little curl of his lips, the warmth in his eyes that settled calmly over her like an existential balm.  
She gawked gratefully at every detail before her, every mole and freckle that she'd blocked out of her mind, and felt transported to a time past when they'd lain naked together in an Inn for an entire day, basking in each other's boundless love and exhausting their bodies. She focused her eyes, concentrating on the angles and hues of him, the little flaws that betrayed his fallibility, and the rippling strength that churned under the softness of his skin. His shoulders bore new scars, including a shiny knot carved just above his bicep that must not have had the help of magic. His stomach was an unyielding wall of solid muscle, but his legs gave way, her thighs sliding in between his to share their deepest troughs of body heat.

She pressed her face into the crook of his neck and exhaled a deep breath as the warmth continued to spread between them. His heart, that strong, steady, endless heart, pounded with a familiarity that made her ache for all the time they'd spent apart. There was no way it had only been four years. It felt closer to a thousand.  
Yet, still, she wondered idly if this had all happened too fast. Her mind and heart had barely had the time to prepare, and seemed to be struggling to accept that what was happening around her was truly real. And it only felt more surreal due to that insidious but curiously pleasant absence of pain that had taken hold since the night before.

Cole. She definitely needed to learn more about this Cole. What could he possibly have said? How could he know?

For all the perfection of his body against hers, there were still words between them that needed to come. Avery wasn't sure where to start, but they both knew; it was in his eyes and hers, in the restraint and caution of their bodies. But thankfully, he began.

"I always knew the Maker would bring us together again," he whispered eventually.

His throat buzzed pleasantly against her cheek as he spoke and his hand began to travel, grazing lightly down her skin.

"But I was afraid that things might be too different. That maybe you'd have found someone else, or that you might not want me back."  
She nuzzled in deeper and ran her fingers along the broad ripples of his back. She wasn't sure what to say in response. She had tried not to nurse too many fantasies of taking him back. Their relationship could not exist safely in Kirkwall, and she'd seen the resolve in his eyes once he realized he couldn't leave with her. But there was also no way she could stay. Even if not for her heartbreak, there would inevitably be a backlash, with her in its bullseye. More Templars had been sent in as expected, seeking justice for the loss of their Knight-Commander, the Chantry and the Circle. He had to know she couldn't stay.

"Why didn't you write me?" he asked as he pulled his face back and looked into her eyes.

  
"Write you?" she asked, surprised, "What would I have said?"

  
"Say that you're alive, that you're okay, tell me where you are, tell me that you're not coming back so that I don't continue to look for you for year after year after year… just to make sure that you…" he sighed, "I don't know that you don't need help or something."

  
"And what if my letter got intercepted?" she asked, "What if someone else read it and you got caught 'sneaking around with a mage' as you said? Wasn't the whole point that you didn't want that complication? You didn't have time? "

  
He sighed, his brows furrowing until the little crease at the bridge of his nose formed. Avery melted inwardly a little bit as she realized how desperately she missed that. And those lips remained as exquisite as ever, even as the scar still startled her a little bit, reminding her of all the time and experiences separating them. The scar pulled gently as he frowned.

"You're right, that is all my fault. I really didn't say the right things, did I?"

  
"Well, to be fair, the only  _right_  thing to say would have been 'let's get the Void out of here,'" she answered with a gentle snort.

  
"And that's exactly what I should have said. Maker I wish I could go back and do things differently," he said. "I mean, I had to stay Avery. I had to. But maybe we could have tried to make it work anyway. I should have tried. I would rather have endured the stress of hiding you than the pain of being without you completely. I just didn't have time to think about it before it seemed like the decision was already made for me. And then you were gone. You were just… gone."

  
He squeezed her tightly, crushing her against his chest.

"Maker's breath. I can feel you in my arms but I can still barely believe you're really here," he breathed.

A rough palm found her jaw, urging her face up to his, her lips immediately captured in a hard kiss. She sighed deeply, a wave of relief flooding through her chest and down to her toes. How she had missed his kisses.

Her whole body began to awaken and tingle as his mouth took hers over, the warmth of his skin breathing life back into her cold-numbed limbs. She squirmed in closer, tilting her head and welcoming his tongue, his hot, probing mouth, returning his kiss with a slow deliberation. Maker, he felt so good, tasted so good, so much like she remembered. So warm and soft and strong, his touch both desperate and tender. His pillowy lips pulled and teased at hers, suckling and pressing, his breath coming hot through his nose as the intensity grew. His kisses pulled her in, an undertow removing the ground from beneath their bodies, tossing her into a roiling, tumultuous sea of memory and desire. She tried to calm her body, not get so caught up that they forgot to say the things they needed to, but she wasn't sure how much of that there was. The situation had always been impossible for both of them. What more could be said or done now but to move forward, to reclaim what time was left? Still, he seemed to sense her caution and slowly pulled away, resting his forehead against hers with a quiet whimper.

"My love," he breathed. "I'm so sorry."  
She cupped his cheek, feeling an intense ache grow within her, a need to consume and be consumed. Her body was moving against his even as she tried to order it to be still. The scorching heat of his skin, the call of her body to join with his, it would not be silenced. Four years. There was so much time to make up for. What was the point of waiting any longer when she'd already been waiting so very long?

"I know," she said. "Me too."

"Good. And I know you must go in the morning, but this time you'll come home, right?" he pleaded, "Please, don't ever just disappear like that again."

She shook her head as his mouth found her neck, skimming tauntingly up to her lips as his body pressed in deeper against hers. Her legs had gone numb again, only now it was due to the insistent throbbing within her thighs, a torturous absence of him inside her that overpowered all other sensation. An aching hunger that radiated outward, demanding to be sated.

"Home…" she repeated as she pressed the full length of herself against him, letting her eyes roll closed. Yes, that's what this was. That's what he was. No word could describe it more perfectly.

Digging her fingers into his back, she pulled him fully on top of her as she obeyed the siren call of her body without question or hesitation. Even if she crashed upon the rocks and never recovered, she couldn't have denied the song that was luring her in. Her thighs were flooded with readiness, already halfway to the finish line before the solid mass of his cock ever made true contact. She found his mouth again as he descended completely down upon her, his tongue penetrating at the same moment that his manhood did, flaying her open with a searing peal of sensation that streaked straight through, skewering up her chest and forcing a cry from her throat. Even the raging heights of lovemaking they'd achieved years earlier had not prepared her for the instant intensity contained within her body at their rejoining. Even her body knew, her very cells singing and rejoicing: she was  _Home_.

At some point the blankets were gone, having escaped the writhing mass of flesh that twisted and coiled its way toward the heavens. But the biting cold of the room had no surface upon which to linger for long; as soon as flesh was exposed it was claimed again, by a hand or a mouth or the wrapping of legs and the squirming of muscles, pushing closer, finding the furthest reaches within the other possible. She had not realized how hard she'd clawed in her desperation to get him closer until she saw a faint smear of red on his shoulder. On her throat his mouth made a tight seal and suckled, biting down her shoulder and devouring the sensitive flesh as his hips grinded hard within hers. He palmed the soft flesh of her breasts, squeezing until her nipples smarted with a thrilling sting. Her hands found his buttocks and rode the waves of his thrusts, rocking a steady rhythm that devastated the aching center within her, quickly exploding her nerves into buzzing shards of white.

His body entangled within hers was a marvel; smooth expanses of fuzz-softened flesh that bowed over firm hills of muscle, a palpable urgency driving him to cover every part of her with every part of him. He was heavy and careful, abandoned and present. Thorough, corded arms kept her right up against him as his hands got reacquainted with her curves, while kiss reddened lips claimed her mouth, and then scorched across her skin. It was everything she remembered, and so very much more.

"Cullen," she breathed, needing to hear it spoken aloud. For so long she hadn't even allowed herself even the indulgence of his name. But it had always been in her heart, forced into dormancy by time and the sting of loss. Now it spilled forth on its own, escaping its cage and rolling off her tongue as easily as a sigh.

His smoky, velvety voice crooned agonized responses into her ear. Her name, cries to the Maker, whines, whimpers and moans, as his body wrenched control away from his mind and heaved him into a shuddering, keening climax. He bruised her thighs with a barely restrained hand and pulsed his hips hard against her as he finished, straining against the limits of her inner walls while cupping her head and holding her mouth in a deep kiss.

She wasn't ready for it be over, her body still blazing, still crying out with the desire for more. It came to her that it had been a year and a half since the last time Fenris had touched her, and he'd been the only one since they'd left Kirkwall. The drought of touch had become just another droning discomfort that she edged out of her consciousness on a day to day basis. But the truth had always been that if she couldn't have the man she really wanted, she had no real interest in having anyone. And even though she'd just feasted, she still felt starved.

He collapsed beside her and she rolled into the cradle of his chest, breathing in the light scent of sweat and rain that nestled into his smattering of golden curls. She stayed wrapped around him, thighs securing his pelvis against hers, belly to belly, mouth to mouth. The pounding of her heart as it slowed was drowned out almost completely by his, and she contented herself to just continue to kiss him while they calmed, threading her fingers through his hair, tracing the dark arches of his brows, the little divot in the flesh below his bottom lip. Getting to know his face again, his skin, his scent, his touch.  
"Is this real?" she asked dazedly. He let out a soft laugh.  
"I hope so."

Somewhere in it all, she briefly slept. And when she woke, the light outside her windows had changed, the peaks of mountains in the distance taking on a yellow glow from the low angle of the sun. Cullen breathed quietly beside her, his lids drooping while lightly picking through her hair and tracing the lines of her neck with his fingertips. Every few seconds he paused to place a kiss on her temple. She moaned as the mists of sleep dissolved, revealing bodies still entwined, his half erect cock still nestled in the slick folds of her sex. She couldn't help but resume rubbing and writhing against him, moving her hips to slide her awakening slit along the growing length of him. The warm cover of his roving hands only spurred her on, sliding over her breasts, down her ribs to her navel and then around her hips to grasp firm handfuls of buttocks.  
There was no stopping, no being still. Cullen was here, Cullen still loved her, her agony was over and they were going to be together.

"Maker's breath Avery," he whispered as he ran the pad of his thumb over the firm point of a nipple. Almost deliriously, he rotated his hips, finding a slow, languorous entry into her body. His eyes were dark and glazed, his saturated voice the musical manifestation of desire. This time they would go slow, she decided. She would draw it out and savor every second. She slid a hand across the rough stubble of his jaw, and held his face before hers, gazing deep into his brown eyes as they slowly bucked and rocked together. He breathed out, and she breathed him in, inhaling warmth and musk and the scent of sex. His broad shoulders flexed as he braced himself on one arm and dragged slow flames of pleasure out of the depths of her, sending them dancing across her skin. They found an unhurried rhythm, and she closed her eyes for a moment to focus on the rapturous sensation of his thickness gliding, pushing its way deeper, and landing upon tender, neglected places that confused twinges of pain for sparks of pleasure.

She took his lips again, the tip of his tongue gently breaching the boundaries of her mouth and running hot and soft along her lips. He struck electric jolts of need down into the depths of her stomach with every flick, every deep drink of her mouth. A throbbing ache welled up around her heart, and she found herself gasping for breath as she mourned for all their lost time, mourned for all those cold, empty nights that could have been warm and full, for love that she didn't get to give. She held him close against her heart and tried to resist the urge to cry, but the swelling of gratefulness in her chest grew into a mass she couldn't contain, and the tears betrayed her, escaping from under clamped lids and streaming hot down her cheeks.

At some point he wiped them away and pulled her closer, and she let go of any attempt to control the crashing emotions rattling around within. She handed herself completely over to Cullen, losing her mind in the tenderness of his touch, in the building sighs and groans, the sweet, escalating turmoil of their gyrating bodies. She clutched him close with every ounce of her strength and slowly the storm within her calmed, as her thoughts turned from the past to the future. How many nights would she have by his side now? There would be no hiding, no fearing the lethal consequences of a precious, dangerous secret. Might they have something that approached…  _normal_? Shared meals and boring evenings and morning breath and arguments? But also love and devotion without measure, waking every morning — or most mornings anyway— wrapped warm and safe in his arms? It was almost more than she could allow herself to hope for. A normal, mundane existence, one lived beside Cullen, was something which had never before seemed so unbearably exciting.

He came hard, pinning her against the bed as the slow burn of their lovemaking rose to an unexpected inferno, driving her deeper and deeper into the down mattress and rattling the bed frame against the wall. She broke open and spilled out a chorus of wild, wanton cries, welcoming the driving force of his hips, of his cock, of his mouth as she continued to shatter beneath him, her orgasm cascading through her bones with a delicious violence, plastering her flat and helpless at his body's complete domination of her.  
She groaned delirious 'yes's as he slammed into her, each punch at her womb shaking ecstatic shrieks of pleasure from that aching center of nerves, pushing her up and over the precipice of control. The orgasm that followed shook the very earth below them, but even if there had been no orgasm at all she still wouldn't ever have known such intense fulfillment, the satisfying of a need four years in the making.

Afterward she lay shaky and panting, the muscles of her legs quivering like jelly, her skin drenched in a salty layer of sweat that matted her hair to her face and dripped down the small of her back.  
She turned to him and smiled. All tension had been pried loose from her muscles, all doubt that things might not be the same as they once had been, completely destroyed. She beamed warmly at the pink flush in his cheeks and the black wildness of his eyes, and she thanked the Maker. Thanked him for Cullen, for Skyhold, for Cole. For Fenris and Varric and how they had saved her from herself. Even for Anders, for forcing a Mage rebellion and changing everything. It came with the suffering of innocents and mountains of guilt, but at the very least it had allowed them this.

He was smiling back at her, and she was tempted for a moment to ask how long it had been for him, too. But she decided she wasn't sure she really wanted to know, at least not in that particular moment. There was no way a man as handsome and impressive as Cullen had been without lovers while they were apart, not that she'd ever honestly expected him to be. But if it was true that he had numerous women already following him around — a "fan club" apparently, as Anon had said — then she didn't really feel the need for those specific details.  
The room darkened momentarily as a body blocked the window beside her door and she braced herself for a knock.

"The bath!" she remembered.

"Right," he said as he gave her another tender squeeze. "It will probably take them some time to carry the water all the way over here. Have you eaten?"

The rain had slowed to just a misting of sprinkles, and they sprinted giddily toward his tower to get him a change of clothes before making their way to the kitchens. She followed him up a ladder to his the quarters above his office, staring with confusion at the crumbled chunk of ceiling that exposed his room directly to the elements. And entire quarter of the stone room was painted dark with moisture from the rain. It still dripped off the rocks and creeping vines of ivy, puddling in shiny pools on the floor. His bed and belongings seemed to be dry, but she wondered if that would have been the case if there had also been high winds.  
She raised an eyebrow in a question, though was distracted from her confusion by the sight of his sinewy back, flexing and tightening as he slid on a fresh linen tunic. He laughed when he finally caught her staring. It certainly wasn't the first time since the day they'd first met. She pointed at the hole in the ceiling, letting her expression communicate a silent question.

"Yes I know. Trust me, you're not the only one who thinks it strange that I'd sleep in a collapsing room," he snorted. "It just… helps. You must recall my…  _difficulty_  with small spaces?" He said as he pulled on a fresh pair of breeches.

Avery admired his shapely legs, his calves a solid rock of muscle, under gracefully swelling thighs. Part of her wanted to pull her own clothes right off again, but her stomach was cramping with the need for food, and she knew they've have plenty of time together in the bath.  
"Well, this helps with that, even if people think it's a bit crazy," he nodded up to patch of exposed grey sky. "And I must admit it's quite nice to be able to look directly up at the stars on nights when I'm unable to sleep. It's very soothing."

She nodded her understanding, and placed herself directly under the hole. She could see the appeal of an expanse of stars, especially if they were anything like she remembered during her drunken night in the courtyard.

"Doesn't it get cold?"she asked.

"The temperature usuall stays pretty stable. I think it's only cold now because of the rain coming off the mountains. Out there it's snow. I guess the magic of this place only extends so far," he answered.

"And… you're not worried about the rest of the ceiling collapsing in on you while you sleep?"

He laughed, "my love, I am not a  _complete_  fool. It was inspected for structural integrity before I moved in.

"Well… good," she shrugged.

His bed was larger than hers, more luxuriously appointed. She consciously had to block out the question of whether any other woman might have been in it since she was gone. She shook her head, refusing to ponder it. She'd had no claim over him in the last four years, and besides it didn't matter. He was hers now.

Any concern she might have had, as admittedly silly as it might have been, disappeared when he held her hand tightly as they made their way through the Great Hall. She noticed a number of turned heads, particularly those belonging to other women, but he only smiled at her reassuringly, pulling her body close to his as they walked. Varric nodded at her from across the room and she had to suppress a proud, probably wildly overeager smile so as not to look too much like the cat that ate the canary, but inwardly she was exultant. She took a deep, contented breath as she looked up to admire his profile, the perfect collection of lines and angles, cast a stunning gold in the warm glow of lit braziers. He too was nodding at people, occasionally speaking a brief greeting. He curled the side of his lip in a confident half smile as she caught his eye again, and she felt butterflies take flight in her stomach, banging against her ribcage and sending a spread of heat to her face. It was the stuff of dreams, the sort of thing she'd imagine during cold, lonely nights in Kirkwall. She and her lover, her  _Templar_ , together for all to see, nothing to be afraid of anymore, nothing to hide from anyone. Her cheeks began to ache as she realized how she was failing at concealing her heart from writing itself across her face. But Cullen only smiled wider, squeezing her hand and leading her gently to the kitchens of Skyhold.

But he was no longer a Templar, she reminded herself. No longer on lyrium. He'd been there to see the beginning of the reconstruction of Kirkwall, the aftermath of the Chantry and what happened to the city's people.

Maker, there was still so much they needed to discuss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Grrr... I am noticing now that the formatting on this is coming up a little wonky... I had to manually insert line breaks when usually they're automatic between all dialogue and paragraphs. I'm sure it's not going to to be perfect, but please me know if there is anything I missed, or if there are places the formatting disrupts the flow. Thanks lovies! <3


	6. Chapter 6

She was floating. Floating through the Great Hall, through the Courtyard and up the stairs. Floating back into Cullens arms and out of her clothes, into the tub and through some delirious sea of disbelief. His arms came around her and anchored her back into the moment, pulling her in to relax against his chest as they luxuriated in the warm water of the bath. The tub barely fit the two of them, and she was squeezed in between his thighs with little room for movement, head rolled to rest against his neck as he cupped handfuls of warm water to drip down her shoulders. There was the occasional wave of a quiet sadness, and she knew what Cullen was thinking about, but he wasn’t bringing it up. She wasn’t sure how to speak about it herself, how to explain the frightening darkness she found herself plunged into immediately afterward. He was no stranger to darkness himself. It might have been that very fact that prevented him from asking about it.

“You said Cole said a lot of things… How does he know those things? Do you remember what else you heard?” she asked.

Cullen shook his head as he pressed his face into her hair and took a deep breath.

“It’s difficult to remember. He speaks in riddles, and I’d had quite a bit to drink too, if you’ll recall,” he said softly, “He has some unusual abilities. He is… not quite a person.”

Avery laughed quietly, “what does that mean?”

“I really don’t know to be honest, I only know what other people have said. I’ve only really seen him myself a few times.” Avery’s curiosity was thoroughly piqued. What kind of creature could this possibly be?

“Can I meet him?”

“If you can find him,” Cullen said as he lowered his head to kiss her shoulders. “I hear that’s not always easy.” She shivered slightly at the whispery touch of his lips against her neck, and he slid a soapy hand around her belly and pulled her tight.

“Could you imagine how different things would have been?” he asked as he massaged warm fingers below her navel.

She could only shake her head. She’d imagined many different scenarios in the past, but had long since discovered that it was easier to assume it would have still been a loss. Maybe if he had been there that morning, he could have held her and made things easier. And maybe not.

“So,” she continued, trying to figure out the best way to phrase her next question, “how is it that you were able to quit lyrium?’ she asked finally, unsure how exactly to broach the frightening topic. The more she’d thought about it since he mentioned it that morning, the more chilled she’d become about the risks he might have been taking. He still had dark shadows around his eyes that betrayed his lack of sleep, but other than that he seemed well.

“It… has not been easy,” he sighed, and she heard the struggle in his voice, the barest trace of a waver. She wanted to turn around and look into his face, but she’d already learned that in this particular tub, that attempt would just end up awkward and messy. Instead she pulled his arms around her tighter and pressed back against his chest. “I was… sick for a while,” he continued, “I tried the weaning approach and the sickness was just spread out over weeks. And then I decided to try just cutting it off altogether and dealing with all the effects at once.”

“And that was better?” she asked.

“No,” he laughed sadly. “It was an agony I don’t even know how to describe. It still is at times.” She squeezed him again, desperately wishing she could have been there to help him, to ease his pain in whatever way she could have. There was enough about lyrium withdrawal that she already knew. Samson had been a daily sight for many years, looking on the verge of madness or death, as though he hadn’t slept in ages, and begging people for ‘dwarf dust’. She couldn’t bear to imagine Cullen in such condition, though as far as she could tell he had not devolved that far. And hopefully he never would.

“Why did you decide to quit?”

“After everything we saw in Kirkwall I just… I don’t want anything to do with that life anymore.”

“And yet you stayed there for a while, didn’t you? In Kirkwall?”

“I did. I stayed until the Order there was stabilized. It was about the same time that Cassandra came and recruited me into the Inquisition. That was well over a year ago now, and by then I was quite happy to take my leave,” he sighed and rested his head against hers, “But I should have taken it much, much sooner.”

She nodded, feeling her mood plunge deeper and deeper into a quiet turmoil.

“And how long has it been since your last draught?”

“127 days,” he said. “Just over four months.”

“Maker!” she gasped.

“But Mahanon… wants me to start taking it again. Until the breach is closed at least,” he said.

She blinked confusedly. That would mean if he wanted to quit again he’d have to go through withdrawal all over again. The idea immediately raised her hackles and she gritted her teeth angrily.

“Why!?” she scowled, “What would that accomplish now?”

“A few things I suppose, most notably eliminating the risk of madness. And I certainly don’t want my mental faculties called into question. Plus without it there are… headaches, loss of focus. Sleep is more difficult than ever. I’m trusting Cassandra to step in and relieve me of my position if things get too bad,” he explained. “I have already asked her to, about a month ago, and she didn’t agree that there was any need. At least not yet, anyway. That was about the time Mahanon brought up my taking it again.”

“But you haven’t?”

“I haven’t. Though I suppose if the Inquisitor orders it… that means that eventually I must,” he sighed. “It was just a suggestion before, but I fear the order is coming.”

“But why now? Does he have reason to worry?” she asked, beginning to feel her own insidious prickle of worry.

“Most of the time I can endure the headaches and the lack of sleep. But there have been… episodes,” he said quietly. “I can get a little short tempered.”

“And the nightmares…” she began, her throat choking up, swelling with the ache of so many different things: sympathy, rage, the need to protect the man she loved. The desire to pummel that skinny little elf.

“The nightmares are what they are. They’ve never been easy, but they’re more vivid now. And there’s a greater well of memories to draw from,” he said, “it’s not just Kinloch Hold and Uldred anymore.”

As if his body knew of what he was speaking, he yawned deeply, his chest rising and pressing against her back. She feared to have him sleep, but there was no question he so desperately needed it. After their late night last night, and the exertions of that day, she could hear the weariness in his voice, possibly more of it than he was already accustomed to. She too felt completely drained, as well as a whole host of other things.

“Maker’s breath, Cullen… I have so many questions. There is so much I have missed, that I need to catch up on…” she sighed.

“And I you, my love,” he said as his fingers streaked lightly up her skin, stopping to tangle in wet ropes of her hair. “There isn’t the time tonight, but… there is so much I want to know.”

Avery felt seized by a desire to help, to do something. She couldn’t just sit there when Cullen was suffering, right that very moment. She sat up and finished rinsing the soap off, then stood to step out of the tub. Cullen’s hands raked over her bare legs and bottom but she was too tired herself, too full of roiling thoughts to linger under his touch.

“Come to bed,” she said simply. She helped him towel off, stopping to kiss his lips, his chest, various scars and moles, and dragging her palms over the landscape of his body. Their nakedness was as tempting as ever, but she was tired, her mind now reeling wildly with so much troubling information. Thinking of the struggle he must have endured made her stomach churn angrily, and if the Inquisitor made the call, he may have to endure it all again. To imagine him under the same afflictions as Samson… how sick and strung out Samson looked for so long, his eyes bloodshot and desperate, willing to go to extremes to get his fix… it made her shiver. She ached to hold Cullen, and she also needed to help him sleep. It was the one thing she could offer at that moment, even if it meant an end to their conversation. She still had to pack her gear, but first she would do for Cullen what she could, what had seemed to help him a long time ago, and hope that it might bring him a little more peace. At least as much as was possible while facing being torn apart again so quickly. She cringed as she imagined the travel to come. More long, boring travel across mountains and that blighted bridge. Groaning in frustration, she pulled Cullen into bed.

He obeyed her urging without complaint and nestled heavily in her arms, his eyes warm and dark in the flickering firelight. She kissed him tenderly for quite some time, exploring the tastes and textures of his mouth, basking in the softness of his lips and tongue. She cradled his head against her shoulder as she worked her fingers lightly through his hair and over his skin, trying to soothe him with every tool at her disposal. And it seemed to work; he sighed contentedly as his limbs slowly grew slack and his breathing got slow. Hoping to preserve this peace, she pulled up a corona of a sleep spell and eased him the rest of the way under, watching as his brow relaxed, his lips parted slightly and his shoulders went limp. After lingering for a while, reveling in the scent and warmth of his arms, she slipped reluctantly out of his grip and began to pack.

 

 

Morning came far too soon. The first crack of light slipped into her room and she knew the full burst of dawn would be quick on its heels. She’d found her way back into Cullen’s arms sometime during the night and she nuzzled into his neck, savoring the hot, delicious musk of slumbering man. Despite how desperately she dreaded the coming journey, she still couldn’t help but smile at the new life that unveiled itself as the sleep cleared away. The first morning waking up in his arms, possibly the first of a lifetime’s worth if she got very lucky. If something didn’t come along to muck it up.

But then, she realized, something sort of already had. It was what had catalyzed her invitation to Skyhold and brought them back together, but it was also what threatened to rip Thedas completely asunder. Visions intruded on her moment of joy, visions of the breach, of Corypheus and the strange things Stroud had to say about the other Grey Wardens. And as quickly as it had come, her burst of optimism began to wane. The journey ahead would be important. It might very well help ensure that she _did_ have a lifetime of mornings in his arms. And for that alone she’d need to commit to their mission with determination and a focused mind, as well as all of her strength. At least she wouldn’t be doing so with as troubled a heart as she’d brought with her into Skyhold, though it would be heavy and left behind to reside with Cullen as she ventured far away again.

Avery pulled Cullen gently out of sleep, grateful to note that his rest had seemed deep and undisturbed, and her heart soared with the smile that lit up his face after his eyes flicked open and focused upon her. He pulled her back down, trapping her in his arms and enthusiastically laying kiss after kiss on her face, covering her cheeks and her hair and her temples until, despite the gravity of the task ahead, she laughed heartily, almost girlishly. She welcomed the weight of his body as he slid himself onto her, even as she realized how impossible it would be to resist the arousal that would inevitably follow, and how bad an idea that was when in mere minutes she should be making her way to meet the Inquisitor. Still, he pressed his growing bulge into the root of her body and she gasped at the searing bolt of sweetness that rocked through her at the contact. She throbbed with lust almost immediately, moisture collecting and readying her to be plundered. The thought of pushing him away was an impossible one. How could she possibly bring herself to deny him, to deny herself?

“Is there time?” she asked as she pulled away from his lips, trying to crane her head behind her to see how the light outside the window had grown.

He groaned and stilled himself, stopping his cock from gaining entry while digging his fingers into her flesh with the effort.

“Not… technically. Not for all the things I want to do to you,” he grumbled. He slid a hand down her belly and she felt the gentle probing of his fingers sliding between her folds and swirling around her aching bud of nerves.

“Maker’s breath, Avery,” he breathed as he explored the ready slickness of her.

“You can thank yourself for that,” she with a smile.

He pulled his hand up to his mouth and sucked her juices off his fingers with a needful moan, keening quietly as his hips rolled against hers, his back arching forward and pressing belly to belly. He stared down at her with sleepy, glassy eyes, and even as she took a mental inventory of what she had left to do before her departure, noting how bad an idea this was, she still couldn’t help but buck against him, to keep his hips locked against hers within the vise of her legs. Maker, how could she possibly say no? When she wasn’t entirely sure when she might even see him again?

“Mmmm…. Fuck it,” he cried as he slid an arm under the small of her back and jerked her hard against him, positioning his cock for a deep, powerful thrust. “The Inquisitor will just have to wait.”

She laughed in agreement and grabbed his lower lip with her teeth, merging her mouth with his in a fit of urgency. If they were going to do this, they needed to hurry and he seemed to agree. He came down on her hard, scorching her inner walls with an instant, welcome invasion. The solid bulk of his cockhead landed directly where she needed it to, punching at that exquisite center of pleasure deep within her belly.

It was as wildly carnal as any sex they’d ever had. He moved fast, plumbing her depths with rapid thrusts, filling the air with the sound of slapping flesh and rabid cries as he bit at her lips, her jaw, cupped her head and completely enclosed her body with his. She braced herself against him and moved in time with his hips, finding that perfect spot of friction that dragged them both to the finish line in record time. She tried to hold onto every possible detail of the experience, sights, sounds, the smell of him. Damn that Inquisitor for pulling them apart so soon!

He groaned after collapsing on her, the weight of his body crushing her down into the bed. She would have been content to be trapped there forever.

“I’ve missed you so much, love,” he said eventually, “Please tell me again that you’re coming home? Promise me you won’t let anything happen to you?”

She panted several heavy breaths before she felt collected enough to respond, but at least she could easily say she was now fully awake. She dug her face into his shoulder, sighing at the blissful experience of him. She loved when she could feel the full power of his body, loved when he held her so tight she felt utterly possessed, loved the sultry sounds that rumbled from his throat. Loved when his lips turned crimson and puffy from overuse. She sighed again, holding the picture in her mind and trying to cement it there. She knew she would need it in the nights to come.

“The Maker himself couldn’t keep me away from you now my love,” she said, and smiled reassuringly at him as she rolled off the bed and located her leathers.

“Well, good.”

 

They stepped out into the brisk morning, the sun beginning to turn the sky a deep orange. She locked up her room while Cullen waited, bearing her pack for her.

“We need to make a quick stop at my office first,” he said as he led her down the battlement path, “I have something for you.”

“Oh, okay…” she said with surprise. She tried to suppress a grin as she followed his breathtaking silhouette through the early morning light.

She called up a glow on her moonstone staff head as they entered into the dark watchtower of Cullen’s office. He set down her pack by the door and ran to the desk, heading straight for a bottom drawer on the right side of the massive table. She noted with amusement how tidy the office was, how all the books on the shelves were arranged by size and color. How only the bare essentials were scattered on the top of his desk: a lantern, a quill and ink well and a small box of scrolls. She couldn’t fathom what Cullen might possibly have for her.

“Did you… know I was coming to Skyhold?” she asked him.

“I had a tip, but it wasn’t confirmed,” he answered.

A tip? That would mean someone knew he would want that information. Would that mean he’d had people keeping an eye out for her? Maker, there were still so many questions. It’d been difficult to concentrate on all the things she wanted to know when her focus was constantly assaulted by the visage of his lips, his skin.

“So, you didn’t write to me while you were out traveling the world,” he said as he removed a rather large wooden box and placed it on the desktop. “I, however, have been writing you, hoping that someday I might have a place to send all or at least a few of the letters.”

He opened the box and removed a thick stack of worn, yellowed pages. “I gave up on that hope when it was clear I was never going to hear from you, but writing you had became a sort of… catharsis. So I continued anyway, just in case. Now there is a little bit of a collection. I’m not sure how well they’ll travel, but…”

Avery was astounded, frozen into place as Cullen walked toward her, bearing a novel’s worth of letters. He held the stack out hesitantly, but didn’t let go once she took hold of it. She wrapped her fingers reverently around the sides of the stack, already feeling a growing anxiousness to begin reading whatever it was that he’d had to say. She pulled gently on them, seeing that he might be about to hesitate, wanting to take full possession before Cullen changed his mind.

He stood there quietly for a moment, something nervous flitting behind his eyes.

“Though now that I think about it, there might be one or two I should probably keep,” he said with a shaky laugh as he pulled back on the stack. “I didn’t anticipate I’d be doing this, so I didn’t have time to sort through —”

She whined in disappointment, but didn’t let go. 

“Trust me, Love…” he continued, “I mean most of them are harmless, maybe a bit depressing, but you won’t want to read some of the—”

“But I do!” she gasped, “I do want to! Please!”

He laughed nervously but still didn’t let go. “You can have most of them… they were for you anyway, but, really, just let me look real quick…”

“No!” she cried, and with a swift jerk she had the stack of out his hands and was backing up to the wall behind her. He advanced slowly, trying angle himself around to reclaim his gift, but she clutched it desperately, moving to hide them behind her back and trying to keep them out of his reach. She didn’t know if she’d ever held such an unexpected treasure. Letters from Cullen! Dozens and dozens of them! She had weeks on the road without him, and suddenly wasn’t entirely sure how she would get through it without bringing a piece of him along, any and every piece that she could possibly manage. And, she admitted to herself sheepishly, whatever it was he was nervous about her reading had immediately become the ones she wanted to read the most.

“Cullen, you can trust me,” she pleaded, “I want to know everything. It’ll be fine, I promise. Please?”

She gave him the most entreating, doe eyed stare that she could muster but he only narrowed his eyes and laughed, obviously recognizing her tactic. She pouted out her lower lip and tried to make it quiver, but just ended up laughing. She felt rejuvenated and energized by the promise of having something to feed her aching heart in her absence. He continued his slow advance and eventually had her blocked against the wall, hovering tantalizingly close and bringing those cupid bow lips within inches of hers.

“Please?” she asked sweetly. “You don’t have time to sort through these anyway, Commander. You’ve already made me late.”

He laughed quietly as his shoulders fell in a subtle show of defeat.

“You are adorably persuasive, Serah Hawke,” he said with a smirk, “I obviously should have planned this better.”

He looked down for a moment, his little smirk dropping off into a serious expression of worry, “Just please understand, much of that time I was a very desperate and lonely man.”

She nodded as she gripped the edge of his fur pauldron and pulled him the rest of the way in, thanking him with a deep, soulful kiss.

 

 

The goodbye went too fast, as such things tend to do. She was the last to arrive to the gate, where a small party of characters waited with fully dressed mounts, talking quietly as the sky turned from a deep reddish orange to a silvery gold. Cullen approached the group with her pack slung over one of his shoulders, his other hand gripping hers tightly and keeping her body right up against his. Mahanon eyed them with intense interest as they approached, and she nodded to him, but made an effort to look as nonchalant as possible. Cullen dropped her hand and gripped her waist possessively as Mahanon brought her up to speed on the plan. He then turned and introduced her to the rest of the party.

‘Tiny’ was also known as Iron Bull, and she caught him giving Cullen an approving nod as he assessed her sharply with his one unpatched eye. Cassandra nodded a polite greeting, but continued to watch both her and Cullen with barely concealed surprise. And a bald elf mage introduced himself as Solas, his face as serene and thoughtful as they come, and he took her hand in a firm handshake without further commentary.

“No Varric?” she asked Anon with disappointment. She had just naturally assumed that he would join in any endeavor that involved her. Mahanon only shrugged, and offered no explanation.

 

Just before departing, Cullen pulled her away from the group and swept her up into a firm kiss, brushing her hair back and cupping her head as he worked his skillful lips over hers. Despite the sex they’d had so very recently, she felt her body pulled inexorably into his again, attracted to him with an almost unnatural force. It required effort to calm herself, to not give their small audience too much of a salacious show, but as the kiss continued on she began to forget that they were being watched in the first place. She heard herself moan quietly as her fingers gripped his hair by the roots, as her hips pressed against his and she raked roughly down his back.

Until Cassandra cleared her throat rather loudly. Cullen pulled back, caressing her cheek with his thumb as he gave her a small, worried smile. She squeezed at his waist and drank in a last long look into his amber eyes, sighing almost deliriously at this image from her dreams that was standing flesh and blood before her.

“I’ll be home soon,” she said, receiving a relieved smile from him in return.

But nagging the back of her mind was the thought that such an open, passionate kiss in front of fellow Inquisition forces was probably not typical behavior of the highly disciplined Commander. She began to wonder if perhaps Mahanon’s presence was part of what inspired such an amorous display. As she thought more about it, she was sure that she’d just been publicly claimed.

“Bring them back safely, love,” Cullen said as he nodded to the group and turned to make his retreat back to the stairs of his tower. She watched him walk away, praying quietly that they’d be reunited again as soon as possible, and then turned to offer apologies to the waiting — and very amused — eyes that had silently watched the two of them.

As much as she detested the thought of leaving him, part of her was anxious to get started on the letters, and she’d promised not to even glance at them again until they were on the road. She grabbed the lead of the horse assigned to her, and joined the group in exiting the towering main gate of Skyhold.

 

 

 

She’d made it past that damn bridge and through the morning’s travel with little fanfare. Everyone else seemed tired, particularly Anon and the Iron Bull, who snickered back and forth to each other as much as they could while on horseback. Cassandra and the other mage seemed to have little to say to one another, and Avery stayed mostly to the back of the group, letting her mind get carried off in flights of fancy. She kept Cullen’s face at the forefront of her mind, running back through her memory of the night before, of making love to him again for the first time, of his intensely concerned face as he stood before her in the rain, of those sweet words he spoke as he held her tight. “Take me back. I’ve never stopped thinking about you.” Maker did that all really happen? Now that each step was carrying her farther and farther away from him, she was less sure than ever that any of it was real. Except for the stack of letters in her pack, reminding her that this _was_ reality, that Cullen would be waiting to welcome her return. Oh how she missed everything about him. The years had diminished nothing, and how very different and exciting it was to be together without concern for being caught, without having to sneak out to a ledge or into her bedroom. She felt herself smiling as she cautiously let herself bask in hope for the first time in years. It was frightening almost. Suddenly her future looked completely different than what she’d become accustomed to, and she wasn’t sure how much she could trust that it wouldn’t all just change again.

 

Finally, Mahanon brought the group to a stop, in order to stretch their cramping muscles and eat, and she politely excused herself from the group to sit alone and pull out the leather portfolio Cullen had given her to hold the letters. She flipped through the stack of pages again, estimating that there might have been close to 70 or 80 letters, each page in a different stage of wear and tear. Some of them seemed to have taken much more of a beating, while others were crisp and sharp. One particularly curly page in the center had a big blot of black on it where he’d apparently spilled his inkwell. On the lower edge of that page was a smear of ink-stained fingerprints, and what even looked like part of an imprint of his palm. She forced herself not to look at the words, but she ran her finger gently along the delicate black whorls of his prints. He’d probably cursed quite a bit when that happened. Maybe stained his breeches, or the rug. She laughed quietly as she imagined the scene, feeling her heart swell with love. He’d mentioned that the earliest ones were to the back, and she decided on the spot that she would not give into the temptation to read them out of order. She would go one by one, and hopefully get some kind of coherent story out of them all. With a barely concealed grin, she pulled the first letter off the bottom, admiring his clean, even script. It hadn’t changed at all since the letter he’d left her on the ledge four years ago, or the one he gave her in the store room of the Gallows later on. With a fluttering heart, she took a deep breath and began:

 

 

_Avery,_

_I have started this letter so many times but have not finished it even once. I am determined to finish it this time, in the hopes that soon you might send some notice of your whereabouts. Only yesterday I learned why it is that after nine days, I haven’t had even a glimpse of you on the street. I kept hoping that I might see you working around the city, or even just in passing. Just to see your beautiful face, just to be reminded that you are alive and that something good still exists in this world, would bring me so much relief._

_But beside this letter sits a response from the Guard Captain informing me that you left town with your elf friend, with destination unknown and no indication of any planned return. It took considerable pressing to get even that from her, as she seemed convinced that I was looking to exact some sort of justice upon you. I suppose that is to be expected, but luckily the Guard Captain Aveline is a reasonable sort._

_My love, I knew you needed to lay low. I expected that the new Templars the Chantry sent in would be out for you, and I also figured you wouldn’t want to see me after the regretful way I ended things at the Gallows. But I am not prepared for you to just simply be gone, without any word or warning._

_There is still so much I want you to know that I didn’t get the chance to say. You should know that I have never resented my duty or questioned my loyalty to the Order as much as I have since our first meeting on the ledge. If things at the Gallows hadn’t ended the way they had, there is no question that you and I would be in Ferelden at this very moment. But it simply could not be. I owe the Order my service right now. They have given me everything that I have, everything thing that I know, my education, my training. And there is no question that the soldiers below me would not abide a Knight-Commander who has questionable ties to an apostate accused of aiding the fall of the Circle. I have so many people looking to me to clean up the mess that Meredith left, a mess I am not sure can even be cleaned up, but at the same time I can’t stop thinking about the innocent people who died in the streets that night, people whose blood is on the Order’s hands as much as it is Anders, or any one else. So much has been laid on my shoulders here, and on top of that I have hurt the person I love the most in this world. I can only hope you trust that I truly had no choice. I’m terrified that you don’t know that. I know that articulating my thoughts is not my strong suit and you deserved a better explanation than I gave you. And I’m sorry. I failed you. That conversation has become one of those moments in life that only lasted a minute or two, yet replays constantly in my mind for hours, days. Nine of them, as of today. Not knowing where you are or how you are is chipping away at me, and I fear more and more that I might crumble under all this pressure._

_I hope you know that if you want to write me, I will do everything in my power to keep your whereabouts from the people who might try to hunt you. Please write me Avery, even just a few quick words to let me know you are okay._

_Yours,_

_Cullen_

 

Avery took a deep breath and read through it all a second time, feeling her fingers begin to tremble. Her original excitement at reading the letter was now buried under guilt. The thought of him waiting around for her for day after day made her heart ache. But of course she hadn’t written him. It hadn’t even occurred to her. For the reasons she’d already told him, and because she needed a clean break if she was going to hold herself together long enough to actually get anywhere. They’d already tried to break it off while still having to see each other and speak, and it hadn’t worked. But the clean break, as much as she’d hated to do it, it had worked.

She sighed and set the letter on the top of the pile, then looked up to confirm that the rest of the party were still eating and chattering, occasionally glancing her way but not quite readying themselves to leave again. She swallowed down her dread and pulled out the next letter in line.

 

_My darling,_

_Another week with no word. Perhaps you have not reached your destination yet. Perhaps for some reason you assume that I wouldn’t want to hear from you. But I do, Avery. So very much. Every day I obsessively check my messages looking for something from you, and every time there’s nothing there I am left not really knowing what to do with myself. I know I don’t deserve much. Just a quick word would suffice. It would ease my mind tremendously._

_Though the more time that passes, the more I suspect that this hope I have is just completely unrealistic and foolish. Perhaps it is my inexperience with matters of the heart that lets me hold onto it, simply because I don’t know how normal break ups work. I have never been in love before you, Avery. This is all new to me. I know that if I picked up and left on my own, after the plans that we’d made together, I’d try to send something if I could. I hate to imply that you owe me, because you don’t and that’s not what I mean. But I can’t help but hope that you might not want to leave me in the dark like this. We can’t be together now, but I still love you. And this has made me wonder if I ever gave you any reason to question that. If anything I always thought I was a little too overeager and forthcoming, but maybe I didn’t do enough. I’ve been replaying everything we’ve ever said and done together when I lay in bed at night, and I think that maybe I should have come to you more. Maybe I should have been at your door every night, so that I could hold you while you slept and kiss you first thing in the morning. I would torment your sleep with my nightmares, but just maybe you might think that it was worth it if you truly loved me as much as you said._

_Maybe I should have told you that I loved you that first day on the ledge that I tried to, instead allowing you to silence me because you were afraid to hear it. Maybe I should have just stayed with you in that town, lyrium withdrawal be damned. Even if I was dead or mad right now, at least I’d have been with you._

_I want to look for you, but I wouldn’t even know where to begin. I’ve spoken to the Harbormaster and he has no record of you leaving on a ship, but I realize that’s a completely pointless line of questioning. With the right amount of coin you can keep pretty much anything off the records, even the incomparably lovely Champion of Kirkwall._

_Or are you on foot? Maybe that accounts for why I haven’t heard from you. It can take weeks to get somewhere with an intercity courier system, and much longer than that depending on what direction you’re headed. Yes, maybe that is it. Maybe one of these days I’ll check my messages and something from you will actually be there waiting for me. I hope so._

_All my love,_

_Cullen_

 

Avery blinked back tears as she set aside the second letter. She had half a mind get back on the horse and ride directly back to Skyhold that very moment. She’d apologize to Cullen and try again to explain. It hadn’t occurred to her because it had seemed to be such an obviously bad idea. A letter might lead Templars and angry retaliators back to her, and it might cause problems for him. Did he really not see that risk? Was his hope so overpowering that it blinded that little spot of logic? _Oh you beautiful, passionate man._

She cleared her throat, pretending to sit up and go through her things as the group began to stir. Cassandra stood and offered water to her horse. Iron Bull and Anon were done eating and replacing items in their packs. Quickly, she pulled out a third letter, hoping she could get through at least one more before they left.

 

_Avery,_

_I’ve decided that I have to believe that I will see or hear from you again. I have to. There is too much else here in Kirkwall that is going wrong for you to be permanently gone too. The new recruits that have come in to help rebuild the ranks of Templars are a disaster. Most of them are extremists who’ve enlisted because of their anger over the Chantry, and it seems that many of them are disappointed that I have chosen not to adopt the agenda of my predecessor. With all the rebuilding that is still needed here, we don’t really have the luxury of turning willing bodies away, but there are several here now who give me serious reservations. I have been trying to educate them to the best of my ability, and route them into duties which will give them the least possible opportunity to cause damage, but it’s a bit disheartening that so many seemingly rational people have taken what happened with the Circle as a rallying cry rather than a cautionary tale._

_There is also the extra pressure of the Seekers now, who have arrived to conduct a number of investigations. It seems they are constantly watching me, but they refuse to tell me what they are investigating._

_If I could just sleep, my days might be less of the struggle that they are. But when my dreams are not of the usual horrors, they are of you. Sometimes the two combine and I am barely able to function at all upon waking. I could really use your sleep spell. Or just the feel of your fingers combing through my hair as I try to drift off into sleep. But you are not here. And even if you were… you would be at your home and I would still be here._

_On top of all that, I would probably be expelled from the Order entirely if anyone finds these letters. But I suppose expulsion is better than a noose. And what would my Templar brothers think if they were to learn that I not only long for the love of a mage, but also for her spells? It would not end well. But it doesn’t matter. I don’t really care._

_I just hope that wherever you are, that you are okay. I look forward to the day that you finally write me, or come home._

_Cullen_

 

They were getting up. It was time to go. She put that letter onto the top of the pile and hastily flipped through the stack again. Had he really written her so much? After a while he certainly couldn’t have been pining after her anymore, right? What could he have had to say then? The curiosity was torturous. She glanced quickly at the next letter, unable to help herself, and saw that it was short. She pulled it out, figuring she could have it finished and herself ready to go relatively quickly. Maker, they had had waited on her so much already. But her curiosity was too strong and against her better judgment it was out and in her hands.

 

_Dearest Avery,_

_Last night my nightmare was not about Uldred or Meredith or demons, it was about you, and you weren’t even doing anything particularly frightening. You weren’t possessed or holding me in a small cell and tormenting me. Well, you were tormenting me, but only by being you. It was about that day we first discovered that we shared the ledge, only everything went differently. I didn’t accidentally kiss you (which, by the way is not something I would ever do, or have I ever come close to doing with anyone else before) and so I didn’t write a letter and we never met there again. It was one of the most horrific dreams I’ve ever had._

_I love you. Please come home._

_Cullen_


	7. Chapter 7

Somewhere in a small, sheltered crevice of an icy mountain the party made camp. Avery stared into the fire as she picked at the roasted rabbit that Anon had killed, having quickly lost track of where the others had wondered off to. Anon and the Qunari proved themselves thick as thieves, disappearing into the woods amid low, growling whispers and quiet laughter, and then popping up back up eventually with various useful treasures and supplies. And the Seeker and the other mage… they’d stayed close at first, but now they were off doing their own thing, whatever that happened to be.

Avery realized she should probably be trying harder to make friends with them, especially considering that they shared a home with Cullen, and that the lot of them would be fighting side by side whenever trouble inevitably came to find them. But the letters had done something to her mood that she’d not anticipated, saddling her with a crushing guilt that she couldn’t shake no matter how much she reminded herself of her and Cullen’s new circumstances. It wasn’t terribly surprising of course, and she was sure it wasn’t what he intended when he gave her the letters, but it had caught her a bit by surprise. Still, she tried to embrace it, even as she reeled to regain some sort of emotional equilibrium. Surely the letters would eventually evolve into some kind of narrative of his departure from the Templars, his struggle with lyrium, and she desperately wanted that information. But the aftermath of their breakup would inevitably be included as well, and though it hurt desperately read it, she knew she needed to take the opportunity to be present with him in those moments, even if it came four years too late.

But then there was also the disorientation of trying to juggle the many places her heart was split between. A piece of it was trying, and mostly failing, to be there at camp, concentrating on the task ahead that would secure their future. Another piece was pulled back in time to the Kirkwall of days past, at a wound that still felt surprisingly raw and bloody under its ancient scab. And the largest piece of all wanted only to be back with Cullen at Skyhold, claiming the present and making up for all the pain they’d endured, all the vast tracts of lost time.

She hadn’t rushed to the next letter when they’d made camp, trying first to extract herself from that fog of remorse that had settled over her like a sodden blanket, even as she knew the next one she read would likely plunge her right back in. But sitting by the fire and trying to eat, and doing so alone, wasn’t helping either. Part of her wished she wasn’t alone in that moment, that someone was close enough to provide her with some distraction. And yet another part of her glad to be out from under the annoyingly reverent eyes of her new companions.

So many parts and pieces of herself, scattered over time and space, and she wasn’t quite sure how to put them all back together again.

She threw the remains of her uneaten dinner in the fire and looked around camp. Cassandra was no where to be found. One of the canvas tents was lit up with the soft glow that she recognized as magelight, and figured that must be Solas’ tent. But clearly he too was content to busy himself with solitary activities. In the distance she was sure she heard the cackles and murmurs of the Iron Bull and Anon. Avery sighed as she pulled the portfolio back out of her pack, preparing herself for the next letter.

 

 

_My darling,_

 

_Our ledge has been invaded. I tried to visit it this morning and almost trampled right over a sleeping homeless man. He was wearing the breeches and leather coat that you left for me in the trunk. I suppose it’s good that he can get some use out of them, since we no longer can. With so many buildings condemned and continuing to crumble, the number of people living on the streets has multiplied immensely. The shelters can’t keep up, and the residents who can afford to are choosing to emigrate, leaving the homes they vacate to become crime-ridden squatting grounds. I wonder if your apostate friend ever considered consequences such as this when he decided to blow up the Chantry and incite a war. These are not mages or Templars, but common people whose homes, businesses and lives have been completely destroyed. I wonder where your apostate friend is right now. Also if he is still your friend._

_There is a healer here though who has been doing good work. She told me that she fought beside you in the Gallows and was there when you urged many remaining mages to return to Kirkwall to help those injured by the blast. Apparently you inspired her enough that she decided to stick around for as long as there were people in need, even though all her friends have fled the city. She set up in Anders’ old clinic (yes, we know about the clinic) and has been doing what she can to help the refugees and victims, while I’ve been trying to keep the patrols out of her hair._

_It was difficult to speak about you with her. I almost had to excuse myself after she told me that you chose to face down Meredith and the rest of the Order with only a fraction of your available numbers. I confess that it’s made me very angry indeed, Avery. What if I hadn’t been able to stop you from being killed by Meredith or another Templar? What if I’d had to watch you die because you foolishly, altruistically sent your army away? If you were here right now I would be yelling so many things at you. I can’t believe you would endanger yourself like that. No, I can believe it. I believe it and I wholeheartedly disapprove of it. You’d better not be pulling any foolish stunts like that right now, Avery Hawke, wherever you are. You had better be alive right now or you will destroy me._

_Even so, it can’t be denied that many innocent people are alive right now because of that ridiculous and kind hearted move of yours. It’s a shame so many of them now live in absolute squalor._

_I miss you. I miss you so much I can barely take it. Please come home. Just let me see your face again, even if you don’t speak to me. I can handle the cold shoulder, especially when the alternative is nothing at all._

 

_Cullen_

 

 

Avery dropped the hand that held the letter into her lap, sighing in relief. Him being angry strangely made her feel better. Anger was something she could deal with, something she was used to. In Kirkwall she’d routinely faced down people angry at her for one reason or another, and she knew from experience that it would have been easier and more useful for him, too.

She thanked the Maker for Fenris, for Varric. For ensuring that she was still alive. An imagining of Cullen learning the news of her perishing in the sea tried to creep into her mind, and she cringed hard against the memory, her body tensing as she squeezed her eyes shut and blotted out the thought. A whispered prayer spilled from her lips that he never need to know about that moment, or the time that came after. To think of him learning how close she had come to not being alive made her stomach heave. But what if he did know? What if that was one of the things mentioned by Cole? But wouldn’t Cullen have raged at her if it was? He had certainly raged at those wooden dummies at the courtyard. Perhaps that was why.

Or maybe it was one of the things he said he just hadn’t understood. She hoped, oh Maker how she hoped. What in the Void was this mystery, this blessed, beautiful mystery that Cole had inflicted upon her? She dropped her head into her hands, wondering if it would ever get any less disturbing that something so important had occurred completely outside of her own awareness and memory.

Maybe someday she would find this Cole, and learn exactly what it was that she couldn’t remember. Or maybe it would be better for her to just be thankful, and let it all go. Time would tell, or so she hoped.

Her mind went next to Anders, whom she’d never stopped wondering about since their last moment in the Gallows, when he’d squeezed her arm before disappearing into a crowd of robed bodies. Over the years she’d spent a good deal of time imagining every sort of scenario that he might be living out, wherever he happened to be in the world. Maybe he was enjoying the high life somewhere, revered by mages far and wide as some morbid sort of freedom fighter, some honored ‘breaker of chains’. Or perhaps, and probably more likely, he’d been shunned by his own kind. Other mages might not want to associate themselves with such a rabid insurrectionist, a man who further tarnished their already questionable image and brought even more wrath from the world down upon them. Not to mention the fact that he’d singlehandedly (well, not _entirely_ single handed) turned so many of the freed mages into refugees themselves. Perhaps he was alone, in hiding, constantly running. Or maybe Sebastian had made good on his threat to hunt him down and kill him.

She wasn’t surprised at the lack of emotion she felt in response to such an idea. Anders had sealed his own fate with that plan of his, one as carefully crafted and premeditated as anything she’d ever seen, and she knew he’d expected to die for it. Maybe being forced to live out the rest of his life constantly under threat of capture and death was exactly the penance he needed to pay. And maybe that wasn’t even enough, after the suffering he’d put the innocents in Kirkwall through. She sighed. There was no way to know, though she would have welcomed information of his whereabouts. She was slowly coming to realize that the thing about getting herself lost in Thedas for so long was that even news she wanted to hear rarely seemed to find her. Maybe, if he was still alive, and she stayed in one place long enough, someday she might hear of him again.

She put the letter on the top of the pile, and slid out the next.

 

 

_My love,_

 

_I hit a man today. He was bragging that he’d “fucked the Champion of Kirkwall ten ways from Sunday” whatever in the Void that even means. I know he was lying. I knocked out two of his teeth and one of them got lodged in my gauntlets and I can’t get it out. Now the finger won’t bend properly and so I must get a new pair. It’s all pretty ridiculous. Of course I have to lie in the notes we keep on inventory, as “I punched a man who insulted my girlfriend” isn’t exactly going to cut it. But I suppose that would have to be “ex-girlfriend” now anyway, wouldn’t it? I don’t like that._

_I must admit that I feel a tremendous guilt that it’s so easy for me to replace the things that get damaged in the course of my day to day life, when I am now constantly surrounded by people who are suffering for their inability to do the same. Kirkwall is an absolute mess, love. I hardly know how the walls are still standing. Part of me is very glad that you are not here to see it. I just know you'd be running yourself ragged trying to fix everyone's problems. But there are far too many problems for one person, far too much that is completely beyond repair._

_This isn’t exactly enlightening information, but I’m too overwhelmed to even know where to begin on all the details. I can say that my days are long and tedious, and I spend much of my time occupying my mind with thoughts of your lips, your fingers, your laugh. I find myself going back to that first kiss on the ledge regularly now, ever since the dream I had last week. I get caught between reliving what it was like to kiss you for the first time, and the fact of how completely uncharacteristic of me that was in the first place. I said to you once that it seemed like the hand of the Maker was involved in how often we see each other, and I am coming to believe that must have been the case that day on the ledge as well. I just wish I knew why he saw fit to bring us together, only to keep us apart. Maybe the Chantry sisters are right in that we are not to know his bigger vision. I suppose that just because I can’t see it, it doesn’t mean he doesn’t have one. Maybe time will tell. Or maybe you were correct in your assessment that the Maker is simply cruel. There is so much I see every day that supports that notion. This most of all._

 

_Where are you, Avery?_

 

_Cullen_

 

 

 

Avery looked up just as Cassandra dropped into place beside her.

“May I join you?” came the clipped, accented voice.

Avery nodded and flashed a shy grin as she discretely slid the last letter back into the portfolio, and set the whole thing next to her pack. This letter too was not as difficult to handle, and she felt that she was breathing a little easier than when they’d first arrived at camp. Cullen’s words rang through her mind, and a part of her searched through the threads of time, seeking the consequences of their affair that might elucidate such an unlikely, divine plan. But her attempt was half-hearted. She was tired, physically and emotionally, and now that distraction she’d wished for earlier had come.

“So… I knew that you and Cullen were in Kirkwall at the same time, but I had no idea you two… _knew_ each other,” Cassandra began. In her lap was a book, the spine facing away from Avery so she could not read the title. Cassandra noticed her looking and laid her arms over it self-consciously.

“At least I am assuming that you did. Seeing as how you just arrived in Skyhold and then… well, this morning… That is not the behavior of two people just getting to know one another. He even called you ‘love’. I’ve never expected to see such a display of affection from him with anyone.”

“Yes, we did know each other,” Avery confessed with an easy shrug. What point was there in keeping secrets now?

Cassandra smiled an unexpectedly large smile, her face lighting up with the glow of the fire.

“The apostate Champion and the Knight-Captain of the Order? That is scandalous. I am surprised Varric left that out of his ‘Tale of the Champion’,” she said. “Or perhaps he is saving it for its own book.”

“Varric didn’t know until very recently. Yesterday actually. No one knew.”

The Seeker’s eyebrows raised in surprise. “Oh. Of course. That makes sense. It would have been too risky for people to know,” she agreed. “But that is a very long time to keep a secret.”

Avery nodded. Maker it felt good to just be open about it. The weight of years worth of lies seemed to just melt away, and for a moment all Avery felt was the bright, uplifting joy of the knowledge that her love was waiting for her that very second, ready to welcome her back whenever they returned to Skyhold.

“You have been in touch all this time?” Cassandra asked, her eyes darkening momentarily.

“No. We were not.”

Cassandra nodded, going soft again. “You know I was searching for you, I’m sure Varric told you that. I met and recruited Cullen into the Inquisition when I was in Kirkwall, but it was you that I was really after. I was hoping that you might lead us. Varric insisted that he had no knowledge of your whereabouts and Cullen pretended like he did not know you personally at all,” she said. “But later on he said a few things about the Champion that made me suspect that he hadn’t been telling the truth on that matter. And now that I know this… well it explains quite a lot.”

Avery laughed, “does it?”

“I’ll spare him the embarrassment of going into details. He can tell you those himself if he wishes you to have them,” she said seriously. Avery was a little disappointed. Perhaps whatever she was referring to would be mentioned in the letters. But his recruitment probably wouldn’t be brought up until much later, probably not until the very end of the stack. She still had a long way to go. Avery sighed wistfully.

“So, you know him well then? He said he trusts you to… intervene if the whole lyrium thing becomes a problem?” Avery asked tentatively, hoping it wasn’t too soon to try to ingratiate herself into the Seeker’s confidence. But then she’d just confirmed the biggest secret of her life with Cassandra, more easily than she’d ever told anyone. That it was no longer an actual secret was just incidental.

“That is correct,” she said, somewhat uncomfortably. Avery pressed on anyway.

“ _Is_ it a problem? He says the Inquisitor wants him to start taking it again.”

Cassandra sighed, her lips drawing down into a pensive frown. “The answer to that is not an easy one. I asked Cullen to join the Inquisition because I recognized a strength in him right away, of both mind and body. He genuinely wants to be free of the Order and all of its entrapments and I believe that his sincere desire to quit lyrium will be the key to his success,” she said, and then paused. “ He has a chance to do something no Templar has done before and he has my full support. He _can_ do it, I know he can. But…” she sighed, “there is no question that it has caused problems. He does suffer, and it reflects in his behavior and his health at times. And Mahanon does not have the patience or compassion for Cullen’s struggle that I and the others do. He does not believe that now is the right time for Cullen to make this attempt, that there are too many other, more important issues at hand and Cullen not taking lyrium only adds to them. And the truth is that Mahanon is correct on that point, at least partially.” Cassandra’s frown deepened as she looked down at her feet. “When Cullen came to me a month ago and asked me to find a replacement for him, I told him I did not believe a replacement was necessary and I still don’t. And Cullen will continue to have my support until I am given a compelling reason to change my mind. But because I spend so much of my time out in the field with Mahanon, I have begun to worry that maybe I don’t actually see everything Cullen goes through. If he is suffering too much… maybe it would be better to try another time, when there is not so much already on his shoulders.”

Avery nodded, looking around the camp for the Inquisitor or the Qunari, but she did not see or hear either of them. They must have wandered away pretty far. Or they were close by and listening. The elf obviously excelled in the arts of stealth, and he’d probably be quite interested in this conversation.

“But, at the same time,” Cassandra continued, “Cullen has already gotten through the most critical part of the withdrawal and it seems cruel to snatch that progress away from him now. It is a difficult situation for every one of us.”

Avery swallowed hard as she watched the dancing flames flicker and crackle before them. The thought of Cullen suffering never sat well with her, indeed from the very first moment at the ledge she found herself overcome with the urge to help him however she could, to soothe all his troubles. It wasn’t hard to see all sides of the equation as Cassandra had presented them, but the point that stood out the most was the same thing she’d already thought when Cullen had told her what he did during the bath: he’d already made so much progress. To make him take lyrium again meant he’d eventually have to start all over.

“You love him?” Cassandra asked.

Avery nodded, “very much.”

“Will you help me? I know we have only just met. But I know of you, I know that you help people that need it. I don’t know what is going to happen when we finish at Crestwood, but I assume you’ll return to Skyhold and want to stay with Cullen whenever possible. Is that correct?”

Avery nodded again, “yes. If I am allowed to stay, then I will.”

“Good. I have been able to convince Mahanon to give Cullen more time thus far. If you are willing, perhaps you will be my eyes whenever we are away? Help me fill in the gaps? At least I’ll know that if you have serious concerns too, that I should really consider Cullen’s request for a replacement. I would personally rather do that than force him to take lyrium against his wishes.”

“Of course I’ll help,” Avery said quickly. “Of course.”

“Excellent. That is a relief. I also suspect that with you there now, his burdens might be lessened considerably,” Cassandra said with a new lightness to her voice. “Love is a powerful healer.”

 

 

 

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

 

 

_Avery,_

 

_Today I especially miss that little freckle just under your lower lip. And the one beside your left eyebrow, the one that raises about a half a centimeter when you’re surprised or laughing really hard. And I miss that little crescent moon scar that’s carved into your hair above your ear. I always meant to ask you how you got that, but usually by the time I was inspecting your body close enough to be reminded of it, there were other, more pressing matters to attend to._

_Did you know that you have a little mole on your buttocks? On the right cheek, just on the underside of that delicious curve, right before it meets the back of your thigh. I’ve kissed it before. Many times, actually, but I don’t think you knew what I was doing. It made me wonder what sort of things I have in places that I can’t see. For all I know the image of Andraste herself is emblazoned onto my back, though I’m sure you might have mentioned if that was the case._

_I miss that mole. I miss your freckles. I miss the way you bite the side of your lip when you’re trying to make a decision. I miss how expressive your eyebrows are. Especially when you’re joking or teasing. Do you do that on purpose, or does it just come naturally? You could say a hundred different things with your eyebrows alone, including make an entire joke with just a look. That is such a strange thing to miss, but it’s just so you. I miss the way you kiss me, as though it’s the most important thing in the world to be doing and it deserves every ounce of your attention. Did I kiss you like that? I hope I did._

_I miss you. This is killing me. Please come home._

 

_Forever yours,_

_Cullen_

 

 

 

 

_Avery,_

 

_Construction finally finished on a new Chantry. It’s really just a temporary building, but at least it’s solid. The sisters needed a better accommodation than the tent they’ve been using for the last five months. I spent a good deal of time there today. I remember you said that you weren’t particularly faithful, and in truth I have really begun to struggle with my own as of late. I am trying to believe that the Maker has a reason for all this, that the work I do is important, and most of all that someday he might help you find your way back to me. Or at least convince you to send me a damned letter already. But despite my recent struggles, I discovered that I do still find comfort kneeling in prayer, in the quiet candlelight and the familiar smell of incense, and even in pieces of that insufferable Chant of Light._

_I prayed for you. I prayed that you are safe wherever you are, and that you are happy. I confess I have wondered a little bit about you and your elf friend recently. He always seemed an intense sort, and very devoted to you. Are you still traveling together? Are you finding your own comfort in his arms? I don’t know how anyone could get to spend their days by your side and not love you. I envy him. And I prayed for him too today, that he always have the strength to keep you safe._

_Please come home._

 

_Cullen_


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter this time. Fall semester started for me this week. Thpppbbtt :p Fewer letters in the next one, and hopefully it will come more quickly.

 

It was nearly dark by the time they reached the permanent camp at the foot of the Frostbacks on the second night. Three Inquisition soldiers were stationed there already, including a guard, a requisitions agent and a courier, two of whom were busy cooking dinner over the fire when the party finally made their approach. A line of tables and tents surrounded by well worn paths made it clear this site was in constant use by the Inquisitor and his agents, and Avery was relieved not to have to spend the next hour pitching tents and collecting firewood. There was little to do at all besides drop her stuff in the tent assigned to her and collapse on the cot. But the savory scents of lamb and rosemary wafting out from the fire drew her back out again, and when she emerged into the center of the bustling campsite with portfolio in hand, she found herself getting waved over by Iron Bull, who was chopping a hole in a cask of wine.

“So, the elf claims you’re the one who offed the Arishok up in the Marches. In a _duel_ , no less. Tell me he’s shitting me,” he said as he handed her a flagon that he’d filled to the brim. “He’s shitting me, right?”

Avery shook her head.

“He’s not shitting me?” he asked incredulously, his eyepatch pulling a little as he raised his eyebrow. “Little thing like you, taking on the fucking _Arishok_? Alone!?”

Avery shrugged.

Bull roared with laughter, stopping for a moment to gulp his wine and then continue on laughing. Heat crawled up Avery’s neck, settling heavily over her cheeks as she stood before him, not sure what exactly to do other than nod and throw her hands up. She looked around the camp, seeing the requisition guard watching them both. Something in his bored expression made it clear he was used to the procession of characters that came through the site, as well as their antics. She was sure Bull had probably been here a lot.

“Damn, that’s hot,” Bull growled as his one eye crawled up and down the length of her. She sighed and gave him an unamused look that told him she knew exactly what he was doing, and it wasn’t going to work. She wasn’t going on anybody’s damn list. Not while she already had a beautiful man waiting for her at Skyhold.

“It wasn’t that impressive, truthfully,” she informed him. “Lots of running and hiding behind pillars, shooting things at him from far away. It took forever.” And that was true. She’d used up all her potions in the process, and had reached a point of exhaustion where she was certain she was going to drop at any moment, but somehow, blessedly, the Arishok dropped first. And she’d been just as stunned at that development as anyone else there.

“Yeah but he’s dead, and you’re not. You’re not even _maimed_ as far as I can tell. Don’t sell yourself short sweetheart,” he growled with a smile. “And I bet you’ve got some badass scars to show for it. Can I see them?”

She sighed. Bull’s laughter was infectious, but she was tired. It had been an especially long day traipsing through the snow and the cold, and she wanted to get a letter or two in before dinner was ready.

“Maybe later,” she said as she raised her flagon in thanks.

“Alright,” he smirked. “Whenever you’re ready I’ll be right over here with the rest of the wine. Or you could always meet me in my tent. It’s the really big one on the end.”

Avery laughed and rolled her eyes as she climbed her way to a stool set beside the fire and opened the portfolio to the next letter.

 

 

 

 

_Avery,_

 

 _It occurs to me lately, as I reminisce about various aspects of our relationship, that I might have loved you from the very first moment that I saw you. That sounds absurdly sentimental — and it is, I’ll admit -- but I am sure that at the very least I did recognize something important about you. You were just_ special _, somehow. I couldn’t explain it well then or now, but you know how sometimes there are things you just_ know? _I had heard about you already of course, from Meredith and other Templars. You’d developed quite a reputation as a troublesome meddler who thought she was above the law. Little did I know that I had already seen you many times in the Gallows, and just hadn’t been aware that that the pretty girl who kept catching my eye was also the infamous Avery Hawke. I should have guessed of course. Clearly everyone else in Kirkwall had already recognized how special you were. Or at least recognized your inability to say no to underdogs in need of help._

_There was one day in particular that you and your strange little group of friends came into the Gallows, and you talked to me. This was before we officially met on the Wounded Coast about a month later, and you had Anders, the elf and that pirate with you. I remember laughing to myself at the obviously strained dynamic between the group, and I watched closely in case you all caused any trouble, which I was certain you probably would. It was clear from all the way across the Gallows square that there was some incredible tension brewing there. The apostate couldn’t take his eyes off you, you were ogling the elf and the pirate sauntered around ogling everybody, including me. I was absolutely convinced that the apostate and the elf were going to come to blows at one point. I don’t know if I have ever seen a look of such pure hatred on anyone’s face as how that elf looked at Anders, and then, I still barely believe it, but that skinny little man began to glow!? I should have asked you about that. What is he? Folk from all over Thedas make their way through Kirkwall on a regular basis but I have never seen tattoos that do anything like that. How did I ever forget to ask you about them? Maker, there are so many things I still need to know. We simply did not get enough time together, my love. This bothers me every single day._

_I was preparing for what looked to be the inevitable moment that I’d have to jump in and separate them myself when that pirate sneaked up behind me and started putting her hands all over my armor, trying to look under my skirt, and, well, I don’t believe you can even call whatever she was doing flirting. She was less subtle than some of those ladies at the Blooming Rose, putting those obscenely large breasts in my face and asking me if I blushed all over or if it was just my cheeks. I’m not sure why she thought that would work. Perhaps it works on some people. She noticed me watching you mediate between the elf and the apostate, and tried making a wager over which one of the two men would win the looming fight. I distinctly remember telling her that I thought the dark haired girl standing in between them probably would. She laughed and said I was probably right. But the things that came out of that woman’s mouth definitely explained why that expression “a mouth like a sailor” exists. Maker’s breath. Thankfully there was no one else close enough to hear her._

_I don’t know how you did it, but eventually you not only quieted the two men, but also dragged that woman away and sent them all over to the merchant’s table where they pouted and glowered like reprimanded children. And then you came back to me and apologized. I’m not sure what I expected you to be like when you started walking toward me. After how those men deferred to you despite being a breath away from killing each other, I thought you’d probably be pretty brusk and frightening at the very least. But my darling, your apology was so sweet and sincere, your big blue eyes so full of worry that I’d been seriously offended, that I was almost glad that I had practically just been groped inappropriately by your friend. And then, you cracked a joke in that way you do, where it takes a moment to really get that you’re not being serious. I think I laughed, but I’m not sure. I felt a little blinded when I looked into your face. I was so convinced that I was standing before someone so very special that I was struck completely dumb. And I spent the rest of the night kicking myself for not speaking to you more, even though you were clearly an apostate yourself. At that time I harbored some opinions about mages then that were… unworthy of me, I’m afraid. Yet I couldn’t seem to stop the thoughts I was having about you._

_I was a bit disappointed the next time I saw you there, when you didn’t have that pirate with you. I was sort of hoping she might give you a reason to come apologize to me again, or to come say anything at all really. I was fully prepared to be groped by that woman in the name of getting to know her handler. But she wasn’t there, and you barely looked at me. Instead, I somehow found myself wandering near the merchant tables when you were there selling some jewelry, and I accidentally laughed when you made a joke to old Sam. You looked at me and I was sure you’d be annoyed that I was obviously eavesdropping, but instead you just smiled that big bright smile at me again. I still don’t even remember walking back across the Gallows to my post afterward. I wonder if you have any memory of that at all. Surely you’re used to that sort of thing, dealing with admirers everywhere you go. Probably right this very moment there is someone trying to figure out a way to get a little bit closer to you. I count myself so very lucky that somehow I managed to earn your love, even if I only had it for such a short time. Maybe I still do. I have no way to know now. Maker’s breath do I miss you, woman._

 

_All my love,_

_Cullen_

 

 

 

Avery laughed to herself as she thought about Anders and Fenris. Yes, they hated each other at times. Most of the times. And other times... Well if they hadn’t been as attracted to each other as they were repelled then she would never have met Cullen at the ledge on that fateful day. She sighed. It was strange how something that had legitimately broke her heart at one point was now funny. As funny as it could be considering that one of those men went on to manipulate her into helping him blow up the Chantry.

She caught herself smiling as she reread through the letter. How long ago had that been? Before she had walked up on Cullen looking like he was abusing a fellow Templar on the Wounded Coast? Maker that was at least two, almost three years before she met him at the ledge. And she did remember that day. It was the third time she’d had to pull Bela off a man in uniform in the Gallows, making it the last time she would allow the pirate to accompany her there. Cullen had smiled at her too, and despite her long held distrust of Templars, she remembered feeling oddly disarmed. But she hadn’t thought a whole lot about it. She was entirely infatuated with Fenris then, despite the aftermath of their first night together which left him running from her room in the middle of the night.

She sighed. Those times were so full of chaos and heartbreak, and yet she found herself looking back on it all fondly.

The guard was nodding toward the cauldron over the fire, indicating that the stew was ready. Avery grabbed a quick bowl, and then settled down for a long read.

 

 

 

_Avery,_

 

_The Seekers finally left. I’m not sure what they found or what they concluded about everything, but I’m glad they’re gone. A few of the new recruits are doing a bit better than I anticipated. It seems that some of them just needed consistent guidance. There’s a transfer in from Starkhaven who’s doing especially well. His name’s Rylen, and he’s been relieving some of the strain I’ve been under. It’s nice to have someone whom I trust enough to delegate important things._

_A lady walked by me while I was at the market yesterday and she smelled like you, specifically that lavender soap that you love so much. After all the time we spent in the bath together I can barely smell anything resembling lavender without having a bit of a response. I didn’t see her face, and I didn’t want to. But I did have to run to a washroom and relieve myself, which only made me sad. Possibly the most pitiful wank I’ve ever had. You probably don’t want that information, but it’s not like you’ll ever read this anyway._

_Are you coming home? Please come home._

 

_Cullen_

 

 

 

_My darling,_

 

_I am finally trying to tamper down the dose of lyrium that myself and the men are on. There are considerably fewer mages around Kirkwall now, and certainly not the blood mage presence that there was just six months ago, so it seems to me that this is probably pretty overdue. The Chantry has claimed to be supportive of this endeavor, however when I inquire about other instances of Templars needing to reduce their dose, and how to deal with the effects, for some reason I am repeatedly denied information or assistance. As someone in a position of authority I am perfectly aware that sometimes there is a need to withhold information from subordinates, however in this case it seems to me downright risky to do so. And it is not as though I intend to distribute the information or anything. As the leader here I must be mindful of any directives I give that can negatively affect the health of my soldiers, which a reduction in lyrium is sure to do, at least in the short term. If the health of the men isn’t a concern for the Chantry, it seems that at the very least the efficiency of the regiment should be, and that would see great impacts from a number of men not operating at their best. I would have expected that the Chantry would want to make Kirkwall less of a drain on their resources, but that is looking more and more like it is merely lip service. And I can’t really fathom the reason why. This wall that I always seem to come up against when I ask questions is both frustrating and disconcerting, and as far as I’m concerned is standing in the way of me doing my job._

_So much of our training is focused on obeying orders without question, and I always accepted that. Until very recently, I was a model soldier, never really asking many questions at all. I gave my life in service to the Maker and his people, and I am supposed to trust that the Order and the Chantry do their best to follow the Maker’s will. In fact, I appreciate such strict rules and structure very much, and always have. But lately I have been questioning things more than ever. That’s probably inevitable of course, after falling in love with you, watching Meredith go mad, and then seeing all those people attacked in the streets by just as many Templars as mages… those images pop up in my nightmares as much as any other lately, and those were my own brothers, my own men. And then combined with this resistance I keep meeting when I am merely trying to do something that should be as good for the Chantry as the men themselves, and I just don’t really know what to think. Their reasoning in this particular situation, or lack of it, confounds me._

_So I don’t really see much choice other than to reduce my own dose first, so that I might learn exactly what to expect when I give the directive for the rest of the men. It’s probably the best course of action anyway, though I confess I am a little nervous about it, as my patience has already been stretched very thin recently and I am sure that will only get worse. But I am entrusting Rylen with a bit more responsibility in order to reduce the strain, and he will be observing me for any unexpected changes in behavior. I am starting small of course. It has been less than a week and so far I feel fine. Perhaps a little more tired than usual during the day but that is something I’m used to dealing with already._

_This would be much easier if I were with you, I am sure of it. I might have even less information at hand while traveling with you than what even the Chantry provides, but at least I would have the benefit of your healing touch and your support. I often imagine where we’d be right now if I had left with you as we’d planned. I might even be done with this already, past the ill effects and weaned down to a low dose. We’d be traveling across Ferelden, perhaps visiting our old haunts to see how they’ve fared since the blight. Probably the excitement of traveling with you would be distraction enough to help with some of the withdrawal. I would take you to Honnleath and show you where I grew up. There is this lake I used to go to that was always my little private refuge from the rest of the world, namely my siblings. There was a dock that stretched far out over the water, and I’d sit on the edge of it, dangle my feet into the lake and skip rocks over the surface. It was a wonderful place to clear my head. In fact I realized somewhere along the way that our ledge in Kirkwall was sort of my replacement for that little dock, or as close an approximation as was available in this damned city. I am sure you would appreciate the beauty and peace that is to be found at the lake too. Someday perhaps I might have an opportunity to return. Maker help me if I’m stuck in Kirkwall for the rest of my days._

_Are you in Ferelden right now? Maybe you’re near Honnleath at this very moment. Or South Reach, where my siblings are. I am sure the chances of that are slim, but I just wish I knew where you were. I continue to check my messages with a a sliver of hope, though that grows smaller and smaller all the time._

_I wish more than ever lately that things could have been different between us, my love. I am certain that I probably passed up an opportunity for happiness beyond my wildest dreams. And I hurt you in the process, which absolutely kills me. If I ever get the chance I promise I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you. Please come home._

 

_Cullen_

 

 

 

 

_My love,_

 

_You’re really not coming back are you? But how could that possibly be when your family’s estate is here? That estate has belonged to the Amells for generations and it took you years to get it back. I confirmed with the Seneschal that the deed is still in your name, so even if you intend to sell it you’d still need to be in contact with someone here to arrange for transfer of title. But the Seneschal and Guard Captain mentioned no such contact, or knowledge of an intent to sell in the future. Which leaves abandonment, but who just abandons a mansion in High town!?_

_Kirkwall isn’t always going to be down and out, which I am sure you must realize. Someday it might even approach livability again. A new table opened up in the market today in fact, which, believe it or not, is quite a big deal. There’s still tons to be done of course, but there are beginning to be small signs of improvement here and there, if you know where to look for them. Seriously, Avery, your home is here! Stop torturing me and come home!_

 

_Cullen_

 

 

 

_Darling,_

 

_My attempt at weaning my lyrium dosage down is a failure. I had a moment yesterday where I just ‘woke up’ in the middle of a conversation with a dark haired woman in the Gallows square. I had no recollection of how the conversation began, whether she approached me, or me her, but suddenly there I was, standing in front of this woman who looked a little bit like you, and she was staring at me with an expression of such disturbed confusion. It's branded into my memory now.  I asked her what was wrong and if I could help her with something, she told me that I had her mixed up with someone else, that her name was not Avery. Today I learned that she is a Templar who was in plainclothes. I have been enduring horrendous headaches and nightmares and thought that I was getting through it, but this has really shaken me. I had a terrible dream about it last night, where she really was you, and you still didn't know me or why I was talking to you and you were giving me that same horrified look._

_So my next dose is going to be back up to my original amount. I am pretty disappointed, but this could probably get me in trouble if she were to report back to the Chantry. Thankfully everyone around here still calls you Hawke, so I am hoping that might be enough to prevent her from making any connections. Only the highest ranking officers have been informed of my attempts of lowering my dosage. I guess I don't have to tell anyone now, or maybe I should, in case there are other incidences that I just don't remember. I'm sure I just tried too much, too fast. I will try again someday, when I get up the courage._

_I love you._

 

_Cullen_


	9. Chapter 9

The unending rain in Crestwood came from all directions at once. Somehow it had even managed to rain up Avery’s nose. This was as tedious a trip as she had ever been on, her only role really being to serve as the conduit to Stroud, even though she was as interested in the information he provided as the rest of the group. But once they had finally gotten to Crestwood it took a day and a half of wandering around, dodging a bunch of lightning bolts and carving their way through demons and undead before they finally found the cave Stroud was hiding in. From there, a conversation ensued that lasted all of an hour. Stroud pointed to a map that had a spot in the Western Approach crossed out, and that was the end.

The Western Approach. An ugly wasteland that still bore the lifelessness and scars inflicted by the second blight, and swarming with darkspawn to boot. Avery was already dreading that trip, and it seemed that she wasn’t the only one. The mood as they made their way back to camp was dour, all eyes cast down at the sodden pathway, boots flooded and squishing, marinating feet in an uncomfortable combination of rainwater and mud. Avery kept her head down and forced her mind back to Skyhold, trying to find some measure of relief from the misery. She was cold, she was soaked, and the news that the Grey Wardens were being controlled by Corypheus with a false Calling was terrifying. And, Maker, the trip to the Western Approach, whenever it happened, was likely to take forever. She’d eyed the map and compared the distance between Skyhold and Crestwood to the distance between Skyhold and the old Tevinter outpost and almost wanted to cry. It was at least four times as far. The only good thing was that since it was far on the other side of the Frostbacks, they would have to do a stopover in Skyhold to get supplies. She hoped that Anon wouldn’t want to leave immediately. She needed that time in her new home as badly as she needed air.

She watched Anon slug along next to Bull, leading the group with a tired strength. He kept his back straight and never complained, though he had an annoying habit of stopping to help people all over the place, which only lengthened the amount of time it took to get anything done. Avery realized that she had always done the same sort of things back in Kirkwall, even as Carver groaned and Isabela rolled her eyes, but this time she had somewhere else she desperately wanted to be. She kept her protestations to herself while inwardly screaming at Mahanon to just get on with it already so they could all go home.

Cassandra was the only one who seemed to notice the extra tapping of her toes and tension in her posture whenever Anon got sidetracked yet again, flashing her a sympathetic look and a shrug. She was probably used to it. It was a good thing, really, that the kid was so helpful. She was sure that was part of what had garnered the Inquisition so much commoner support in recent months. Avery tried to swallow down her impatience, and instead of standing around and fidgeting, began jumping in at every opportunity, trying to help Mahanon help others as much as she could. At least with her assistance they might finish things up sooner, and get them back on their way.

Even camp was miserable, but the tents managed to hold up to the rain. Solas retreated to his own quarters as usual while Anon, Bull and a few of the guards struck up a game of Wicked Grace in Bull’s tent. Avery changed into a dry pair of clothes and drank down the brothy soup that was prepared, pleasantly surprised at how the Inquisition guards managed to make such simple fare taste so delicious. Then again it was probably helped by the cold and the exhaustion. If there was anything she learned from almost four years wandering the lands, it was that almost anything hot tastes good when you’re freezing. Finally she opened the portfolio, relieved to see that the rain had not penetrated her pack deeply enough to touch the letters, but found herself a little disappointed to see that the next letter in the pile was short.

 

_Avery_

 

_I am not sure why I continue to write you, as it’s become quite clear that I will probably never have anywhere to send these. I suppose I can pretty much say whatever I want now, knowing that you will never read it. You’ve been gone for eight months and every day I still wonder where you are. It seems strange to me that we’ve been apart now for longer than we were ever together, but still you are so strong in my mind. Perhaps it is these letters. Perhaps that is why you’ve never written, because it hurts less to just forget. Maybe you’ve got the right idea. Maybe I’ll give this a rest for a little while and see if that helps._

 

_Cullen_

 

 

Avery sat heavily on her cot, listening to the drumming of raindrops on the canvas roof and staring at the page in her hand. The frustration that sang through this letter was evident in his handwriting as well as his words. His normally neat script was much messier than usual, more slanted with dots and crosses that were little more than hastily scrawled flecks. He’d been angry when he wrote this one, or emotional at the very least. She’d finished every letter thus far with an increased desire to run to him, to make him feel the love she held for him so that he never questioned it again, and this one fired up that desire strongest of all. _I’m so sorry my love_ , she screamed silently to him through time and space, wishing that somehow it might make a difference. But it couldn’t, it wouldn’t. Even if he appreciated an apology today, it wouldn’t help the hurt he felt back then. His pain and frustration would have to play itself out without any aid from her, and that almost made her want to weep. But it was inevitable of course, that at some point he would come to the conclusion that he should stop writing and try to move on. Moving on was exactly what she’d expected him to do anyway after she left, particularly considering the fact that in the end, he was the one who ultimately broke things off.

Though it had never quite felt entirely correct to her that she was the one who had been dumped. There had been so much time that she’d spent thinking about how she needed to end it with him, that continuing the relationship wasn’t worth jeopardizing his very life, that breaking up with him would be devastating but seeing him in a noose would still be worse, and she’d truly had every intention of trying to make her own ending stick. But then he wanted a last kiss. And then he decided he wanted to leave with her after all. And then… everything all over Kirkwall fell apart. But while the conversation that would be the final nail the coffin took maybe 90 seconds, she had been thinking about her own departure from him for weeks, and that fact stood out as strongly in her memory as anything else.

Judging by the number of letters remaining in the stack, he might have taken a break, but he’d certainly not stopped writing her completely. He’d said it was cathartic for him, and perhaps this was the beginning of that. The beginning of letters that were not written for her, but which were written for himself, to give voice to those deeper struggles of his which had already begun to make themselves known. He was struggling with their separation of course, but also with his faith, with his loyalty to the Order, with his relationship with lyrium. Whatever he’d continued to write seemed to have helped him make some important decisions, at least eventually. She smiled sadly, feeling deep down what a tremendous honor it was that he had offered her access to it. He could have kept these hidden from her forever, and she would never have loved him any less. But what a special gift it was, what a profound indicator of his trust in her, that even after their years of separation he would let her so deeply into his private thoughts.

She sighed as she stared longingly down at the words on the page, words produced by the hand of the man she loved. The guilt she felt at leaving Cullen behind in Kirkwall had only grown over the days she’d had his letters, but so did her longing for him, her certainty that he was _It_. He was the end of searching, the end of wondering, and wandering. It seemed that now all roads in Avery Hawke’s life lead directly home to Cullen. And she wanted to be back with him so badly that at times she felf herself on the verge of screaming, at tearing down the walls of her tent and marching directly back to Skyhold regardless of who came along or what still needed to be done. It only barely helped to remind herself that everything she was reading was in the past, that Cullen was back in her life and was waiting for her right that moment. But until he was physically back in her arms, that reality felt too surreal to be believed.

Perhaps she needed a small break herself, to yank her mind out of the past and put it back on straight. So that she could remember that figuring out all this shit with Corypheus was important too. More than important, it was crucial if they ever expected to have a peaceful future.

Oh but that was so much more easily said than done. With the words from his letters ringing in her ears even when she wasn’t reading them, with regret for all the time they’d lost eating at her, any other challenge not placed directly in front of her face seemed to fall away.

She silently thanked the Maker that he had come to the Tavern in Skyhold when he had, sat beside her at the bar and stayed, despite how unreasonably drunk she had been. The more she thought about it, the more she realized that sweet man had always been the one coming to her, seeking her out. Writing her so many letters, showing up at her door, running all over Kirkwall looking for her before finally finding her at the ledge, coming to her at night in the middle of the cave. He’d singlehandedly made almost every major move between them, despite the fact that for so long he was the one whose life was jeopardized by it. And what had she ever done for him? Besides a backrub here and there, helping him sleep and healing his wounds? Well, and a willingness to leave everyone she knew and loved behind in order to be with him. But it still seemed woefully unbalanced.

 

Avery closed the portfolio and stood, realizing as she’d been lost in thought that she’d been frowning so hard her eyebrows were aching. There wasn’t much she could do for him now, but through all that time he’d written her so many letters and she’d never so much as written him one. Not a single one? How was that possible?

Almost instantly there was nothing else she wanted to do more. She didn’t trust her own memory enough to know if she’d ever given him any reason to doubt her love outside of that, but certainly he had come to doubt it as the years stretched on and she’d not bothered to send so much as a simple word. That could be rectified now. It wouldn’t make up for lost time, but there was a courier there at camp that would probably get a letter to him a little bit faster than it took for them to get home, even if they started out at the same time.

As quickly as the idea had come, the decision was made. But her heart sank as she looked around her sparsely furnished tent and realized quickly that she had neither stationary nor a quill and ink. She paced around as she began to think. Everyone was hunkered down due to the rain, though from what the guards had said the rain never stopped, and everyone had just learned to go about their business despite it. And there were requisition orders and scouting orders and all sorts of things that passed through this camp. Someone had to have something she could borrow. She grabbed a wool blanket to wrap around herself and stalked out the tent flap, emerging back into the rainy night. Bull’s tent was roaring with laughter and slurring voices, and she was sure if she stepped foot in there she’d just get roped into playing the game. And on so many other nights she would have been happy for the distraction, but at that moment she had a different purpose.

 

The bald elf’s tent emitted a low glow. He was always holed up alone in there, and surely he must have been writing or reading or something that would necessitate paper and a quill. Solas hadn’t said much to her or anyone else that was really of a personal nature, though he’d been extremely informative regarding historical facts about the lands they traversed. She had even idly heard the quiet man and Bull engaged in what sounded like a game of mental chess.

Avery swallowed down her nerves and darted through the rest of camp toward his tent.

 

“Hello?” she called from just outside his door, unable to think of anything else to say. As she stood there with the word hanging in her ears she frowned at herself. She wasn’t sure why calling ‘hello’ felt so lame, but it did.

“Just a moment,” came the mage’s response, barely audible through the rushing of the downpour.

When his tent flap opened he quickly ushered her inside, and she obeyed, standing in the entrance for a moment as she removed the blanket, conscious of not letting her fresh pair of dry clothes get too wet. She’d already felt the clinging cold from the water that had splashed up her legs as she ran, and she wasn’t sure if she even had any other dry clothes left.

“Hi… sorry. I was wondering if you might have a quill and ink that I might borrow? And some paper? I need to write a letter, but I didn’t think to bring anything myself.”

“Certainly,” the elf said kindly. “However I am using the ink at the moment. But you are welcome to join me and share it if it’s urgent.” Avery eyed the table that occupied one half of his tent. Her tent had a much smaller one, and his was covered in books and papers, with two small wisps hovering over the tabletop to provide light.

“Well it’s not _urgent,_ I guess…” she said. It was urgent for her peace of mind, but anything she wrote wouldn’t likely make it out until the next day anyway.

“Well it’s no bother if you don’t mind my company. Come, sit.” Solas said gently and swept his hand toward the table. He moved a stack of books out of the way and pulled out a fresh piece of parchment, placing it in front of an empty stool. She thanked him softly and approached, confirming with relief that she wasn’t dripping water all over the place as she moved. It didn’t matter if he was there while she wrote, right? It seemed something she might want to do in her private space, but she supposed it wasn’t a big deal to compose a letter to her lover while sitting next to someone who was occupied with their own pursuits.

“I notice that you wince a little whenever someone calls you Champion,” he observed as he settled himself down in his stool. But Avery was momentarily stunned as she studied the dominant work on the table. Laid out in front of Solas was a large piece of parchment which was not a letter or journal such as she might have expected, but an expansive, elaborate drawing. It contained what looked like a mountain, and an image that might have been a tower. It was intricately detailed and absolutely breathtaking. She closed her mouth and took a moment to process his remark as she settled down before her own clean sheet of paper.

“Um, yeah, I don’t really go by that title anymore. It’s been a very long time since I’ve even set foot in Kirkwall,” she answered, still unable to take her eyes off his drawing.

“That is stunning,” she nodded toward his work, "but why ink? Don’t most artists use charcoal?”

He laughed softly, “I wouldn’t call myself an artist.”

“ _I_ would,” she snorted.

“Well thank you. I use whatever is available. I ran out of charcoal a few days ago, so ink shall suffice until I can get more.”

She nodded, and cleared her throat.

“Thank you for not calling me Champion,” she said finally. “Avery is fine. Or Hawke.”

“Very well,” he said with a low nod of his head as he turned back to his drawing. She took the quill that he had set next to the paper and stared at the blank page under her face. What, she wondered, would the elf think if she saw her addressing Cullen?

She shook the concern away. Even four years later it seemed like a habit. It didn’t matter what Solas thought, and the man had already seen them kiss the morning they departed. She smiled to herself, with joy, with relief. It was so nice not to have to worry about hiding.

 

_My dear Cullen,_

 

_I am sitting here desperately wishing that my magic could give this letter the ability to travel back in time, and be delivered to you in Kirkwall. If I could speak to the Cullen from three to four years ago I would apologize from the bottom of my heart for disappearing without any word or warning, and tell him that though I had to leave, I love him more than I could ever possibly describe with words on a page. Then, and now, it seems that the love and desire that I have for you is boundless. It couldn’t be captured even with thousands of letters._

 

She stopped and looked up. What else to say? She supposed there was nothing new she could tell him about the people she was with, as he knew them all even better than she did. The fact that Crestwood was an insufferable marsh crawling with undead was also common knowledge among the advisors, at least that she’d be able to gather. As she thought, she found herself watching Solas draw, marveling at his steady hand. She’d known an artist or two in her life, and most of them preferred charcoal because of its ability to be smeared around. An unsteady line could be evened out with the smudge of a finger, or turned into a shadow. Mistakes could be covered up. But even with ink this drawing didn’t seem to have a single flaw or mistake that she could tell with her admittedly untrained eye. The curves were perfectly round and even, the symmetry was impeccable and the style distinct but not flashy.

His eyes flicked up to her, grey and narrow, while his quill continued along its path without stuttering.

“Do you just draw like this for fun?” she asked.

“Not quite, thought I do enjoy it. I am painting the rotunda in Skyhold. Each fresco represents a step in the Inquisitor’s path, and this one is of the loss of Haven. This is just a… blueprint, I suppose. I like to work it out on paper first, as that helps with making space measurements later.”

“I see,” she said. “Haven… you mean the town?”

“I do. It was our first base, until Corypheus found us and attacked. The Inquisitor brought down an avalanche from the mountains in an attempt to bury him there, but he escaped. Thankfully so did we, but the town was lost.”

She nodded as she studied the drawing again. She could see the imagery he was referring to.

“You brought an avalanche down on top of yourselves on purpose?” she asked incredulously. She shivered as she realized Cullen would have been there.

“The Inquisitor did. He stayed behind while the rest of us escaped via a hidden mountain passage. Somehow, he made it through and we were able to locate him wandering through the snow in the mountains,” Solas explained.

“Wow,” she raised her eyebrows in surprise as she looked down at her paper, her own messy handwriting now seeming unsightly and embarassing. “That’s incredibly fortunate. Those mountains are brutal.”

“You are correct. Luckily Cole alerted us when Mahanon happened to wander close to where the rest of us were camped, and our search party came upon him pretty quickly. He was cold, but uninjured.”

Avery’s breath caught in her throat at the mention of Cole. Solas noticed her reaction and raised an eyebrow as he studied her face, his quill poised in mid-stroke.

“You know of Cole?” Solas asked.

“Of… yes. _You_ know of Cole?” she asked, but knew immediately that the question was ridiculous.

Solas laughed, but it was not a mean laugh. “Of course I know Cole. I probably know Cole better than anyone here. Or at least, I am very familiar with what he is. I have spent a considerable amount of time with his kind.”

Avery swallowed hard, recognizing an opportunity to learn more about this kid, or whatever he was. She set down her quill and raced through her mind trying to phrase the first question.

“His kind? Yes Cullen says that he is… not quite a person. He also said that Cole came and spoke to me once, that he _knew_ things about me… but I have no memory of it.”

Solas’ face lit up with a gentle smile as he nodded his head and placed his own quill into the well.

“Cullen is correct; Cole is not a person. He is a spirit. The spirit of Compassion to be more specific,” Solas said matter of factly.

Avery blinked dumbly for a moment, and then she thought of Anders.

“Oh, I see. I used to have a friend who was possessed by a spirit,” Avery said.

“Not possessed. Cole takes on the appearance of a young man, but he does not inhabit a body. He _is_ the spirit. And I assume he must have assisted you in overcoming some past grief. That is his purpose. It is the nature of compassion to help people who are in need,” Solas continued. “Do you feel different since he spoke to you? Better?”

Avery nodded. She had felt very different indeed.

“Then he helped you. He fulfilled his purpose,” he said, pleased. “I am surprised Cullen remembered him as well. Most people don’t.”

“Yeah, Cullen said that he can be difficult to find. But I would really like to meet him. Maybe… talk to him a little,” Avery said.

“I can take you to him when we get back to Skyhold if you would like,” he offered. Avery smiled, relieved that she might finally get some answers about what he had said.

“Yes, I would. Thank you,” she said sincerely. “But… do you know, why hasn’t Cole helped Cullen?”

Solas tilted his head in an expression of surprise, “does Cullen need help?”

“Yes. As much as anyone else,” she said. Between the past trauma, constant nightmares and the lyrium withdrawal, she would have guessed Cullen needed help even more than she.

“Well, I don’t know, Avery. You’ll have to ask Cole.”

 

 

_My dear Cullen,_

 

_I am sitting here desperately wishing that my magic could give this letter the ability to travel back in time, and be delivered to you after I left you in Kirkwall. If I could speak to the Cullen from three to four years ago I would apologize from the bottom of my heart for disappearing without any word or warning, and tell him that though I had to leave, I love him more than I could ever possibly describe with words on a page. Then, and now, it seems that the love and desire that I have for you is boundless, and couldn’t be captured even with thousands of letters. I barely know where to begin to express it, other than to come home and never let you go again. You promised in one of your letters that you would spend the rest of your life making things up me, and in return I promise the same. It kills me to think that you might have doubted my love for you just because I wasn’t writing you. It’s true that I eventually reached a place where I had to force myself to forget, and while that might have made things a little easier, it didn’t make me any happier._

_On the topic of things I don’t know how to express, I don’t even know where to begin on these beautiful letters. I have truly never known a more precious and meaningful gift. I am honored and delighted that you gave these to me and I thank you from the bottom of my heart. To answer a few questions from them: no Anders and I are no longer friends. I haven’t heard from him since the last time I saw him at the Gallows. Fenris (my elf friend) has uniquely powerful tattoos that are actually lyrium injected under his skin. I’ll tell you all about it when I get home. And yes, I did find comfort in his arms for a time. That ended almost two years ago now, but he is still my friend, and if I remain with you at Skyhold, chances are good that he will visit me there. Your prayers for him must have been heard, because I owe him my life many times over. He is a good man, and it would make me very happy to see you get to know him._

_You know, I noticed you a lot more than you seemed to think. I remember the first time I ever saw you actually, and it wasn’t in the Gallows. It was in the Lowtown market, where I happened to notice that you had been cornered by old lady Retha. I remember wondering if you were just new around Kirkwall, because everybody knew better than to let themselves get roped into a conversation with that woman. But you stood there with her the entire time I was at the market, just letting her go on and on, probably talking to you about all her grandsons, or her goiter or her bad ankle. Your eyes got that glazed over look that most people eventually get when they talk to her, but you were so polite. At that time I too held opinions about Templars that I realize now were unkind and untrue, but you seemed sweet. Sweet enough that it added to my assumption that you were a brand new recruit just come to Kirkwall, but then when I saw you in the Gallows I learned that you were actually the Knight-Captain which came as a bit of surprise. I do remember that day with Isabela, and I sincerely felt bad when she basically cornered you too, just like Retha had. I remember thinking that this man has terrible luck with women. Oh if I only knew. And then to find you on the Wounded Coast looking like you were going to hit that man, only to discover that it was a fellow Templar and not a mage you were interrogating! I was surprised yet again. I always knew you were different. Perhaps I was too distracted by other dramas in my life to notice just how different, at least until much later. I am so thankful for that day we discovered we share the ledge. I hope that some day we can travel together to visit that lake in Honnleath that you mentioned. It sounds lovely, and I would really like to see it. Mostly I would like to see you there, in a place that you loved as a child. I imagine it would make you very happy and that would make me happy._

_The day after tomorrow we are to depart here for Skyhold, so this letter may beat me to you by a day. I hope our trip home is swift and uneventful. There is nothing in this world that I want more than to be in your arms again. I love you so Cullen. I can’t wait to come home._

 

_Forever yours,_

_Avery_

 

 

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

 

 

 

_My darling Avery,_

 

_Well I didn’t last very long without writing you. Only a couple months, but it is still the longest I have gone yet. This morning I wouldn’t have been able to keep you off my mind no matter what I tried. I woke up in the night thinking about that time at the Inn that you laid on your back on the bed and used your mouth on me. Those beautiful, pink, pouty lips of yours wrapped around my cock, and the things you did with your tongue… Maker’s breath, woman. It haunts me. I now find that certain parts of my anatomy are completely raw because of it._

_It’s been a year now, and having no compelling reason to decline, I accepted the proposition of another woman to perform the same act about a week ago. Only because she had black hair like yours, which made me feel a little… depressed, I guess. But she certainly didn’t seem to care what I thought. And to say she didn’t even remotely compare to you would be an understatement. I could think only of you the whole time. Your lips, your long, pale throat, and your body as you laid out in front of me with your clothes half ripped off… it is truly a nightmare that you are no longer in my life. I still struggle to believe that this is just how things are going to be._

_Did I ever tell you how much I love your breasts? I love that they’re not absurdly large like your pirate friend’s were. I love those pale little nipples. Yours are just enough to be a generous handful, and to make it impossible to tell how perfect they are while you’re wearing clothing. Except in the case of that one dark red robe you used to wear. I didn’t see it on you at all the last year you were in Kirkwall. But Maker how I would have loved to see that on you again before you left. It would not have survived our encounter, that is a certainty. It had a low back and a cinched waist that pushed those pale, beautiful mounds up just a little, and that red color made your skin look like porcelain. Never in my life have noticed or admired clothing before, but that dress used to torment me. No, it was you. YOU used to torment me. Clearly you still do._

_I remember one day years and years ago, you came into the Gallows wearing it and a girl walking past you dropped something — I couldn’t begin to remember what -- but you bent down to pick it up for her, and, Maker help me but I couldn’t look away. I was certain that Andraste was going to strike me down on the spot. I didn’t see much, only the smallest sliver of cleavage, but it was enough to torture me for, well… it still does._

_Then to my horror you came to speak to me almost immediately afterward. But I could barely get a word out properly and I am certain you thought I was the Order’s largest dolt. You must have been asking yourself how in the Void that imbecile came to be the Knight-Captain, and to be honest, at that point I was asking myself the same thing. Not only was I borderline obsessed with a mage, but found myself completely incapable of forming a coherent sentence to one of the most important people in the city. But all I could think about was touching that creamy skin. How does a person even get skin like that? It can only be some mysterious aspect of your magic. There can be no other explanation._

_And it looks as though I have not rubbed myself raw quite enough yet this morning. Of course my hand will never in a million years feel like you and your lips._

_I love you. Please come home._

 

_Cullen_


	10. Chapter 10

How many nights had she spent in Kirkwall doing this very thing? Twisting around in her sheets with her body and mind in flames, chasing sleep that hid itself behind images of a golden haired man? In his letters he’d accused her of tormenting him, but that same torment had been a regular bedmate of hers on more nights than she cared to recall. Though she’d cast it out successfully over the last few years, it had returned with a vengeance, dragging its teasing palms up her thighs, making her squirm with the need to be touched, the need to feel his mouth upon her. So many pieces of him that she adored played their memory across her senses, scenes of such singular beauty that it took her breath away. If it wasn’t the slope of his cheek or the lushness of his lips, it was the way his eyes could turn almost frighteningly predatory, or his voice taking on that tortured sweetness when they made love. It was the way he held her, clinging to her with every part of himself, as though he was afraid he was going to fall off the planet if he let go. So many of those memories had been lost to the blackness of passing time, but they continued to reemerge, coming in bits and pieces that painted a picture much more beautiful than the sum of their parts.

That beautiful fucking man. What Avery felt when she thought of him now could not be adequately described as mere wanting. That very word was paltry, laughable compared to the raging desire coursing through her. She _needed_ him. The taint of her love blaring the call of his name as viciously as any archdemon, rendering his touch into a requirement for life, necessary to her very ability to breathe. And her taste of him had been so horribly, torturously brief. She pressed her palms into the sockets of her eyes, the darkness there exploding into bursts of blue and purple and orange. That damn rain kept drumming on, interrupted occasionally by thunder that rumbled so hard it vibrated her bones. She’d always liked storms, even though she was desperate to finally be dry again. Even in the protection of her tent, everything carried a film of moisture, the air so humid that it seeped into the blankets, settling along her skin regardless of how many layers she wore.

But a storm raged in her body too. Having gone years without a lover’s touch, and now being so close yet so far away from her heart’s desire, she couldn’t calm the tempest within with her usual tricks. There was no whiskey to be had, and she was not about to go for a walk in the rain, in a land unfamiliar to her and which was crawling with creatures from her nightmares. But she needed sleep. Yet another long day in Crestwood had concluded, after running errands that had nothing to do with Corypheus or the Grey Wardens, and Mahanon had threatened the possibility of staying longer than they’d planned. There was a rift under the lake that needed handling, and a castle that needed liberating. But Cassandra had pulled him aside, reminding him that he would have to come back later anyway, and he could finish things up then, when he wasn’t dragging the Champion of Kirkwall around with them. Avery only heard bits and pieces of the conversation, but it warmed her heart that the Seeker seemed to have her back already.

“Maybe she has her own things she needs to do,” Cassandra had reminded him. “Did you even bother to ask her?”

Anon apparently agreed, and the departure was to happen as planned. Avery had blurred her vision and her mind and trudged through the rest of it, forcing her body to go through the tedious motions of one final day, until finally the night had come. And now all that was left was the arduous return trek that would take her to the man that her soul was calling for. She had no desire to be slowed by the weariness of yet another sleepless night. Cullen wanted her too, and she would go to him, as quickly as her feet could carry her.

The images from one of the last letters continued to play through her head. Images of Cullen, alone in his room in the Gallows, his cock achingly hard and throbbing for relief as he thought about touching her, about seeing a glimpse of her under her red mage’s robe. She’d eventually discarded that blighted thing precisely because of the attention it brought her. When she and Anders had to take on three sleazy assholes from the Hanged Man because of the things they were saying about her in it, she’d thrown it in her fireplace that very night. It had been bad enough that people were constantly flocking to her with outstretched hands, asking her for her time, her magic, her blood. She had no desire to have them coming at her with their cocks as well.

But now she wished she still had that thing. She would love to see the fire in Cullen’s eyes as he watched her in it, love to feel the strength and urgency in his hands as he ripped it off her, the desperation to ravage the body beneath the fabric. She sighed and squirmed in place some more, thinking of him touching himself, of his long, thick, perfectly curved cock straining for release under the expert ministrations of his own hand.

She couldn’t help herself. Her hand wandered down her belly and slid into her smalls, locating her own throbbing bundle of nerves and imagining his tongue taking the place of her fingers. Once at the ledge he’d gotten so aroused from using his mouth on her that she’d caught a glimpse of him pleasuring himself at the same time, the perfect, purpled head of that impressive appendage emerging and disappearing into the broad fist of his hand while his hips pulsed gently. And Maker was that man good with his mouth. For someone who’d claimed to have so little experience, he’d quickly learned to play her body, not unlike a virtuoso playing his instrument, tuning just the right strings so that when strummed they’d sing a chorus so beautiful it reached to the heavens. He knew how to keep the tip of his tongue stiff, so that its movements didn’t get lost in a sea of warmth and wetness, but always pushed just the right places with just the right force. And when he’d hone in on her bud and suck hard at it, the bolts of sensation that streaked through her would rock her entire body and raise her hair on end. Best of all, he _loved_ it. Maker, the man almost seemed to love doing it more than she loved receiving it, the way he’d lap her juices off his fingers, the way he’d groan and furrow his brows as his whole body writhed between her thighs, his fingers gripping at the flesh of her ass, running up her belly to grab hard onto her breasts. Even Anders, the kinky, oversexed hornball that he was, had never seemed so ecstatic to put his mouth on her.

She was close to coming, and quickly getting closer. She pictured Cullen’s eyes flashing black and wanton as that beautiful mouth traveled around her, devouring her flesh. The tantalizing cuts of muscle inside the narrow taper of his hips as they rolled and thrust, pressing that gorgeous cock forward. His voice turning smoky and husky with lust, begging her, ordering her to come for him, to hurry up and fucking come so that he could come too. And the cries and whimpers that came from his throat when he lost control, when he twitched and writhed and emptied himself, spurting his seed into her mouth, into the depths of her sex, into the cheeks of her ass.

She bit back her own cry of release, knowing it’d likely get drowned out by the rain anyway but not wanting to risk losing control and waking the camp with a frustrated wail. The images of him in her mind were so strong, so achingly arousing that she almost could have come just by those alone. Her climax shuddered through her, pulsing and pounding its way through her veins, rocking her into the firmness of her cot. Her toes curled with its intensity, even as something there was missing, something was incomplete.

When the storm in her body cleared, his arms weren’t there to catch her. She clutched at her pillow, digging her face into its musty softness, soothing the raw vein of need for him with silent reminders that it would only be a few more days before she was home. They were leaving in mere hours and even if the journey was slow and wrought with peril, nothing the Void or the Fade could throw at them was going to stop her from getting back to him.

 

 

 

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

 

 

 

 

_Avery,_

 

_I’m trying it again, starting even smaller this time. At least now I know a little bit more about what to anticipate. I only made it a month last time. If I can make it to two in this attempt, I will consider it a success. But, Maker, you’d think I was asking the Chantry to quit altogether._

_Their insistence on blind obedience is beginning to chafe at me. It was different when I was just another soldier, but now I am in charge of many very important decisions and I cannot just inflict some of the Chantry’s directives upon those I lead without knowing that there is a good reason for them. Which I suppose, at its heart, comes down to the question of whether or not I still trust those above me. The Chantry and the Order are supposed to serve the Maker, but those making the decisions that are handed down to us all are still just men. Men are fallible and corruptible, we have all seen the evidence of that recently, and this is true even among those who seek the Maker’s hand in guidance. Meredith herself was always devout, always praying to the Maker for strength, even in those last moments after she had turned on her own people. Believe it or not, at one point she was possibly one of the best Knight-Commanders the Order had ever seen. Kirkwall has long been a tumultuous place, with an extended history of blood mage activity, and yet she kept a peaceful balance for a very long time before recent events. And that did not mean that she was somehow divinely protected from corruption. None of those above us are. No one anywhere is, even the Divine herself. I can only say that it is now much more difficult for me to trust anyone sight unseen, and the Chantry’s stonewalling of so many of my questions and requests only increases that._

_And it occurs to me that I and those below me would be much more committed to our positions if we were serving out of trust and loyalty, because we know and believe in those who are leading us, instead of following out of fear, obligation or sheer habit. That is not possible if questions are not allowed to be asked, or if one’s leader doesn’t give their subordinates a certain amount of information and ability to make their own judgments. I am sure you can agree with this, my love. You had quite a number of people working for you who were extremely loyal, and I didn’t see you ruling them with an iron fist. They followed you because they knew you, knew your intentions and they respected you. I know from seeing you in action that you are a fierce, precise fighter but I cannot believe that your friends followed you out of fear, which is really the only way anyone can enforce blind obedience. Not only did they trust you, but you trusted them in return, which is just as important. I don’t want to have to threaten my men to get their cooperation. I know it’s necessary sometimes, but even those who come in wanting to serve, such as myself, seem to wither into cynicism and bitterness when year after year they are deprived of basic consideration by those who would thrust them into danger. I am trying to do what I can to rectify this, to be a leader that they respect, but I feel stifled, largely because I am being treated this way myself by the Chantry._

_So my attempt at reducing my dose this time feels a little bit more personal. I have never enjoyed this leash they have on me, even when I accepted it completely. But so much is different now, including this. The thought that all they have to do is deprive me of a simple vial of liquid and I could lose my mind and my life seems like more power than anyone should be allowed to wield. Just look at Samson, for Maker’s sake. He made a mage friend and passed a few letters, and for that he was ousted, left to rot under his addiction in the streets? I realize Meredith made a great deal of questionable calls once she was under the influence of that red lyrium, but Samson’s expulsion came well before that. For a mage friend and a few letters? And here I am having committed basically that crime plus some, and these people have the power to destroy me for it, even when the Maker himself seems to have his fingerprint all over our union. So I am reducing my lyrium intake and this time I have stronger motivations. I need to regain a little bit of my own power, and I feel like the fact that I am more adjusted to our separation might help me not to see the same effects as last time. I shouldn’t be conversing with images of you that are actually perfect strangers because I know you’re gone now. I know that. Even if you came back, I am not certain you would want me. Why would you have stayed away so long if I still had any sway over your heart? I know you’re strong, probably much stronger than I. Perhaps I am still in your heart but your resolve is just that powerful, that you are able to keep your distance from me despite everything we felt together. I don’t know. I can only know what I feel and I know that if you are still this heavy in my mind a year after the fact, that makes it difficult to believe that we have reached the end of our path together. Apparently you are able to believe that. Or perhaps it’s because you don’t attribute as much as I do to the Maker, and maybe that’s smart. Or maybe you are in love with someone else, or maybe you are dead. I have no bloody way to know anything at all Avery._

_I lost my train of thought a bit there. That happens when I start thinking about you, about what should have happened between us, instead of what did happen._

_I’ve also been thinking a lot about what went wrong the last time. I am going to try harder to recognize the paranoia for what it is, as well as the times that I forget where I am and what I am supposed to be doing. There are triggers that I’ve noticed that seem to occur on particularly bad days. Such as too much time in small spaces, or lack of physical activity. Nights that I get especially little sleep, and particularly those nights that I give up trying to sleep at all and get out of bed to start my duties when I don’t need to. I should probably stay in bed and rest by body, even if I cannot rest my mind. If I can recognize these things and know when to take it easy, then it’s possible that might reduce some of the most worrisome effects. I’m hoping so, but at this stage I am just trying to keep all of my expectations low. If you were to come back around, or this attempt were to go well, then I will be pleasantly surprised. If not, then it will not be much different from what I have already endured thus far. Either way I find myself at a point where I am too unsettled not to do something._

_This would all be so different with you around, but there’s no point wishing for that anymore. Or maybe there is. I don’t know. I wish I was one of those people the Maker spoke to. Maybe he’d tell me whether this idea that I seem to have about us is all just wishful thinking._

 

_Cullen_

 

 

 

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

 

 

 

The Frostbacks were full of rifts, rifts she didn’t remember seeing on the way to Crestwood. Sickly green rips in the fabric of the world spilled demons and shades and wraiths, and the party ended each day in camp more exhausted than at any other point during their trip. Two of the nights Avery had the energy for one letter, maybe two before collapsing into her bedroll and giving over to a blessedly deep sleep. Conversation waned and meal times were quick as food was swallowed before it could even be tasted. Somehow, despite the fact that she hadn’t spent a great deal of one on one time with her new companions, Avery felt as though she’d been accepted into the fold. The silences between the crew were comfortable, and most of them could make themselves understood with a look or a grunt. If the exertion from fighting all the newly opened rifts hadn’t been sapping them all of their energy, she was sure they’d all be having a pretty good time together, at least now that they were out of that miserable rain.

She would even venture that they’d taken a liking to her, Cassandra and Solas most of all, even despite how taciturn she’d been on so many days. And she still caught Mahanon looking at her sometimes with those large black eyes of his. Avery didn’t know if she’d ever seen a black eyed elf before. Of course in the brightness of the midday sun she could see the deep hint of brown within, but his pupils were lost inside those gaping irises, turning them into deep, black pools of mystery. He looked at her more than he actually spoke to her, watching her carefully even when she wasn’t doing anything of note.

She could only imagine how much pressure he was under with that mark on his hand, making him the only one who could possibly handle all the rifts. It sparked a pang of sympathy for him, even as she simultaneously seethed at the thought of him trying to make Cullen take lyrium again. She’d felt a pressure of her own as Champion of Kirkwall, but everything she’d accomplished there had been of her own choice. Mahanon had never asked for that mark, he’d simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time. And he was bearing the weight of the pressure with admirable grace. His wager, as distasteful as some might have found it, might simply have been a way for the kid to let off steam. As long as he wasn’t hurting anyone in the process, Avery didn’t see why he shouldn’t have some fun if he chose to.

Avery flashed Anon a smile as they trudged through the snow, and he returned it brightly. As she thought harder about it, she became more sure that it would be smart to position herself in his confidence. Perhaps together, she and Cassandra could persuade him to let Cullen have this opportunity to free himself of his past.

 

The last night at camp they all lounged around a large fire, finishing off the remainder of the wine, which had begun to turn bitter and would soon be completely undrinkable. Bull was telling a story about Dalish, a member of his Chargers who apparently insisted that she was a backup archer and not a mage. She even called her staff a bow, which caused all sorts of confusion anytime they met a new commissioner or took a new job. Avery was only barely listening as she looked around, feeling the wine warming her cheeks and soften her vision, and for a moment she felt a stroke of nostalgia that verged on deja vu. She was reminded of the Hanged Man, of her group of friends all imbibing various liquors until they got tired and silly, telling stories that weren’t always funny as they were meant to be, but that were always meaningful and revealing. Even Solas seemed happy for a short time, despite the sour face he’d made at his single sip of the bitter wine.

Avery got up and handed Bull her flagon, who refilled it with a wink, and then she sat herself beside Anon. He’d gotten quiet, even as he laughed at Bull’s stories, a sullen seriousness hiding somewhere in the back of his dark eyes. He turned to look at her questioningly and for a moment she saw that cocky little smirk begin to creep across his face again. She just snorted and shook her head. She knew he hadn’t forgotten that she’d already been claimed by Cullen.

“When do you think you’ll want to go to the Western Approach?” she asked him, seeing no reason not to bring it up. His smirk vanished, replaced quickly with that focused seriousness that emerged anytime he spoke of his duties, which somehow still managed to catch her completely off guard.

“I don’t know actually,” he answered. “Josie keeps pestering me about this business with Empress Celene. She warns that the political situation in the Empire is dangerously unstable, and the sooner that’s dealt with, the better.”

From across the fire, Cassandra grumbled a sound of abject disapproval.

“You don’t have to come to Halamshiral if you don’t want to Cassandra. I’m sure Viv would love to go in your place,” Anon responded reassuringly.

“She is welcome to it,” Cassandra scowled.

Avery laughed quietly, amused at Cassandra’s unconcealed disdain. She and Fenris had visited Halamshiral once, as they traveled the Imperial highway into Ferelden. The looks Fenris got there had made him incredibly uncomfortable. There were a great deal of Dalish elves there, something she probably should have been expecting considering the city’s history and location, and they all seemed fascinated with his unusual markings, assuming they were just some special sort of vallaslin. At a market a few people had even tried to touch the blue lines on his arms, and he’d almost gone into a full blown rage. There wasn’t much that ruffled Fenris outside of the threat of blood magic, but strangers wanting to put their hands on him, especially when those markings still hurt him from time to time, had brought out an almost feral panic that she’d never seen in him before. He’d insisted on leaving immediately and she was happy to get him out of there. The place had been beautiful though; verdant and warm, full of sprawling estates that easily surpassed anything she’d ever seen in Hightown.

Anon turned back to Avery and explained, “There’s a ball being held at the Winter Palace and it’s been suggested that might be when the attempt on the Empress’ life will occur. I highly doubt we’ll have time to make it to the Western Approach and back before then anyway,” he said. “And I don’t think I want to be rushing around the sandy asshole of Thedas worrying about being late for some ball. Don’t you agree Bull?”

“Fuck yes, Boss,” Bull confirmed. “You’re taking me right? Or are you concerned that would completely destroy your chances of catching up to me?’”

Cassandra made that unhappy sound again, and Avery snorted as she shook her head. Solas just watched quietly, his grey eyes flicking from person to person, observing them all carefully.

“I’m up for the challenge, Bull. You think those prissy fucks are going to prefer a brute like you over the highly esteemed and extremely handsome Inquisitor?” Anon asked, the wine in his system audible for the first time.

“Bring me along and we’ll find out,” Bull smirked.

Avery sighed as she tried to suppress a grin. A trip to Halamshiral would would definitely buy her and Cullen some time together before they had to leave to meet up with Stroud again. She almost laughed, but felt nervous that her relief would reveal the reason for her question in the first place.

Again she reminded herself to relax. They probably all already suspected.

“The Commander will have to come,” Anon said, confirming her thoughts, but catching her off guard yet again. She’d gotten the impression that the Commander rarely traveled along with Anon.

“But you probably could too, if you wanted to.”

Avery saw his smile widen as he registered her look of surprise, and finally she did give in and laugh, a pure expression of excitement and mirth. Anon laughed with her, looking as though he was genuinely enjoying her reaction.

“A ball at the Winter Palace… that was certainly not what I was expecting to be doing,” she said.

“That makes it all the more fun, doesn’t it?” he asked.

“It’s not supposed to be fun,” Cassandra grumbled. “You are supposed to be protecting the Empress’ life.”

“Yeah, yeah, we’ll do that too,” Anon said as he waived her off. “Cass, have I ever failed to accomplish a mission? Give me a little credit here.”

Cassandra grumbled again, but made no argument.

“Do you want to come, Solas?” Anon asked across the fire.

“I wouldn’t mind going,” he answered placidly.

Anon shrugged and downed the remainder of his wine in a single gulp.

 

 

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

 

 

By the time they reached the final approach to Skyhold, Avery had begun to wonder if she’d ever be warm again. It was colder than it had ever been in the wagon, and colder even than when they had originally set out for Crestwood. She shivered in place on the back of her horse, trying not to hold herself too stiffly as they traversed the final mountain passes. In the distance Skyhold was a beacon of dark of stone within the rocky walls of white, and she watched it intently as it slowly grew larger and larger. Cullen was in there, she told herself, and finally she would be coming ‘home’, as he had asked of her so many times in the closing of his letters. There were still quite a few letters left to go, and she hoped she’d have time to continue to read them, but she also knew she’d be wanting to spend every possible second enjoying him in the flesh any time he could get away from his duties. She sighed. Somehow the last week and a half had seemed so much longer than that.

The closer Skyhold got the more she realized the shaking wasn’t just shivers from the cold, but was also at least partly due to nerves. She still felt considerable remorse for the pain she’d read in his words, but while that was so fresh for her, she had no idea how much it might be for Cullen. He had written those so long ago, and surely one’s own letters are not the sort of thing one would feel the need to revisit often, especially when trying to move past the pain they contained. But the feelings behind the letters would still be in his memory somewhere, however distantly. Would Cullen be nervous too, knowing that she’d read so much of what he’d said during desperate, private moments? Would he be worried about what she might have thought as she was reading? She hoped her own letter to him had put his mind at ease, but certainly he wouldn’t want to be pitied for all the suffering he’d endured. And she still wasn’t sure if she’d reached any of those letters that Cullen had wanted to pull out of the stack before he handed it over to her. Nothing had stricken her as particularly worrisome yet, though maybe the letter where he accepted another woman’s proposition, and discussed his own private activities as he thought of her might be one he’d have pulled. But she was glad to have read that letter, and she intended to be sure that Cullen would benefit from it as well.

The bridge was looming close, the giant canyon that it covered making its way into view, and a whole new degree of anxiety fired up, seizing her chest so that her breaths drew short. She’d get over the bridge this time the same way she had before, by closing her eyes and trusting her mount, but the taunting imminence of such a vast void of space pulled at her mind. If somehow she were to fall into such a massive canyon, she would probably never be found. It could never be confirmed that she’d hit the ground at all. She tried to squeeze the morbid thought out of her mind. She couldn’t seem to help imagining the myriad possibilities for death whenever she was faced with such a fall. It was as though the Void was calling to her, magnetizing her body to it, and all she needed was the slightest push to get lost in a sea of open, undefined space.

Her eyes were closed well before she heard the change in timbre of the horse’s footsteps that indicated they were officially on the bridge. She tried to keep her breaths steady and picture anything but a giant mouth in the earth below her trying to swallow her up. She imagined a hilly field of green grass such as what surrounded her childhood home in Lothering. She tried to imagine the piss-drenched depths of the Hanged Man, how after the first couple pints the stench faded away and the ceiling stopped seeming so low and oppressive. She imagined her bedroom in Kirkwall, with solid ground below her, stone walls around her, lying safe and secure within Cullen’s arms as a fire crackled in the fireplace.

It occurred to her that this fear of hers effectively trapped her in Skyhold. If she ever needed to make an escape on foot for some unimaginable reason, she wasn’t sure she’d make it across. More likely she’d get stuck part way over and fall paralyzed with fear to cling to the road below her. She laughed at herself quietly. Of all the things she’d accomplished in her life, all the adversity she’d fought through, and something as mundane as a mountain valley could incapacitate her. She resisted the urge to open her eyes. Somehow she always found herself wanting to do it at around the halfway point, just to confirm that it really was as bad as she imagined. If the bridge was a little wider or had slightly higher railings it might not be as frightening. But it was narrow, and the rails were no more than shin high stacks of stone, certainly nothing that would stop her from falling if something was trying to put her over the edge.

Eventually the horses slowed and the quick bark of voices sounded off, followed by the creaks and groans of the giant outer gate as it began to lift. She opened her eyes and kept them trained on the towering stone wall before her. She unhooked her pack off her horse and entered the protective cavern of the Skyhold entrance chamber with her heart pounding away nervously in her ears. She was only moments away from seeing Cullen, she realized. What if he didn’t feel the same way about her anymore? What if something had happened in the short time that she’d been gone and he’d changed his mind somehow? Or if thinking of his own letters had reminded him how cruel she’d been to disappear and leave him behind the way she had?

Those thoughts were all absurd, she knew that. But that didn’t seem to stop them from coming, those fears whispering in her ear like the seductive voice of a Fade demon. Her need for Cullen had never seemed as strong as it was now, now that it had been fed and nourished by his letters, and there always remained that cynical little fear deep inside her warning that anything she cherished would inevitably be snatched away, as so much already had.

She took a deep breath and tried to quiet her mind, dropping her pack in the footpath that edged the interior chamber, readying herself to go climb the stairs to Cullen’s tower. She raked her fingers through her hair, trying to work out some of the tangles that the mountain wind had created, then rubbed the exhaustion out of her eyes and swished some water in her mouth, knowing that she had to look a fright after so many days in the mountains without the ability to bathe.

Guards and soldiers were working quickly, taking the reins of the horses as Bull, Cassandra and Anon stretched and began unclipping their gear from the saddles. A messenger interrupted Anon to pull him aside and begin briefing him quietly on some matter of great importance, while Solas sprinted for the door beside the inner gate, looking as anxious to get inside as she felt herself. He paused in the doorway before going through, uttering a quiet pardon as he nodded a greeting to a figure waiting on the other side, and when he’d disappeared into the bright green courtyard beyond, the doorway was quickly darkened once again. She suspected, or hoped, that it might be the man she sought, and her heart jumped around in her chest like a fish out water as she waited for the silhouette to reveal itself.

It was him of course, standing tall and proud, scanning the interior of the chamber until his eyes landed on her. His lip curled up into his little half smile as he stepped through the door, his pace unhurried, his eyes glinting even within the shadows of the darkened room. Avery began her own advance toward him, each footfall seeming to occur in slow motion as she searched his face for any indication that anything might have changed in him while she was gone. But she saw only the familiar features that had occupied her thoughts for days on end now, his bright, welcoming amber eyes beaming warmly at her, his smile growing wider. She closed the remainder of the distance in a relieved rush, forgetting the chamber full of people behind them and pulling his face down to hers, delivering with every ounce of her heart the first kiss of a new lifetime’s worth of kisses. 


	11. Chapter 11

Cullen caught her for the kiss, the scratch of callouses scoring along her jaw, his other hand running warmly down her back as he pressed his lips to hers. She still saw his eyes in her mind, bright and excited, sparking with anticipation, as though he’d been just as anxious for this moment as she was. Of course he would have been, despite whatever whispers of insecurity she felt upon the approach to Skyhold. If he had continued to love her for years now, what difference would a week and half traveling to Crestwood make?

Even after the rush to get to him, the kiss that followed once she’d been enclosed within in his arms started slow. The luscious pillows of his lips settled tenderly upon hers like a satiny caress, gently suckling and exploring, drinking her in with an exultant sigh. But despite the gentle dance of their lips, her arms gripped him with all her strength, pulling at that vast expanse of his broad back in an attempt to get him closer, feeling metal and fur and drapes of a lush fabric as her palms sought out the familiar swells of the flesh beneath. The chamber of the Skyhold entrance had gone quiet, the rest of her party having departed and the remaining guards chittering under their breath as their footsteps scurried to and fro, but Avery only heard it distantly. Her focus was swallowed up in the meeting of their tongues, of the warm air that whispered along her cheek as he exhaled through his nose, in the delicate strokes of his fingers combing through her hair. She had to stifle a satisfied groan as his gentle touch raised goosebumps down her back and along her arms, and she wished for probably the millionth time in their lives that his blasted armor wasn’t standing in the way of feeling his body up against hers.

“Thank you for writing me,” Cullen said quietly after he pulled away, resting his forehead on hers.

“I’m sorry it’s a few years late,” she answered, feeling the sad pang of regret at the memory of his letters.

“Well, it was worth the wait.”

She kissed him again, and it seemed like each second that their mouths met was replenishing her very life force. She leaned completely up against him, closing her eyes and sighing contentedly, heart swollen and singing with joy. This was it. She was home.

He stepped away for a moment to pick up her pack, and wrapped his arm around her waist to lead her out the door to the courtyard. She was increasingly aware of how grungy she was after the trip, her hair hanging heavy with grease, the layer of clothing below her armor the same one she’d put on several days before, just after they’d finally gotten out of the rain.

“Once the watchmen alerted me that you were over the last mountain pass I had them start filling a bath in your room,” Cullen said, as though reading her mind. “I hope you don’t mind that I let them in. I, um, took a few other liberties as well.” He glanced at her out the corner of his eye as they climbed the winding stairs up to the battlements toward his tower, both grinning bashfully back and forth. Watching the smile he kept holding back only made her own spread more and more out of her control.

“Commander,” she began through straining cheeks, “please feel free to take as many liberties with me as you would like. I encourage it.”

He laughed softly, his face blushing a light shade of pink. “I will keep that in mind.”

He opened the door to his tower and let her walk in first, setting her pack down along the wall and then turning to stand before her, appraising her with a pleased smile as he picked up her hand and brought it to his lips.

“Well I ordered us a larger tub, for starters,” he explained, and then pressed a kiss onto her hand, “and I might have moved a few of your things into my quarters.”

“Oh?” she asked, deeply surprised.

“You should still keep your room of course, since I’ll need the office for meetings and such during the day. But there’s no reason you need to sleep there,” he said, laying on another light kiss.

“I doubt we’ll be doing much sleeping even in your quarters, Commander.”

“ _Our_  quarters now,” he corrected with a smirk. “And you’re right about that.”

She glanced down at her feet, and then around at his office, once again in full disbelief at everything that was happening.

“It’s not too soon is it?” he asked quietly.

“Not at all,” she answered, looking back up into the changing browns of his eyes, feeling a little lightheaded. She was reminded of words from one of his letters, when he said that he’d felt blinded when he looked into her face. She was experiencing exactly that, with this unfairly beautiful man before her, continuing to offer her exactly what she’d never dreamed could be possible. But it was, it was real and it was happening now, even as that little voice in the back of her mind nagged that it all had to be too to be true. She swallowed hard and tried to compose her thoughts, but her heart was racing. She felt as nervous as if they were starting over from the very beginning.

“We’ve already waited a very long time, Cullen. I don’t want to hold back now that we finally have this chance.” Her words came out shaky and he took another step closer, his lips still curled into a gentle smile. Maker, he was intoxicating. She ran her eyes over the features of his face, that scar that just seemed to get better each time she looked at it, the imposing pauldrons that made him seem almost beastly. Certainly more imposing than his Knight-Captain armor ever was.

“I can still hardly believe this is real,” she said, realizing that her knees had begun to feel like jelly. She didn’t know if she’d ever felt so nervous in front of him before. How strange that the letters about how much he loved her seemed to reduce her to a puddle of quivering insecurity, possibly the exact opposite effect that they would have had on any other reasonable person.

He took another step forward, cornering her against the wall and tilting her face back up so that he could gently rest his forehead against hers again. He sighed, brushing their noses together lightly, his thumb brushing against her cheek while his other hand clutched at the crest of her hip, holding her steady.

“Me either. I have loved you for so long Avery,” he said. “I don’t want to hold back either. I couldn’t.”

“Good,” she whispered breathlessly, a fire suddenly igniting, flaring hot under her skin. “Don’t.”

She took his mouth with a renewed urgency, focusing all her attention on the joining of their lips, the deep explorations of her tongue, needing to taste him, to make love to that beautiful mouth of his. She heard a slight whimper escape her throat as she clutched him close, her hands still seeking around his armor for a place to land that would let her knead at the flesh beneath. She had to settle for running one hand down the back of his neck, slipping below the collar of his metal plate to the hot, soft skin between his muscled shoulders. Her other hand finding the curve of his buttocks, gripping that perfect mound of flesh and pulling his hips against hers. She whimpered again as his solid bulge made contact with the pulsing center of her sex, grinding deeply into the root of her hips and sounding off a peal of ecstatic sensation that rocked through her body. One of his thighs worked its way between hers, pressing into her until she groaned at the need for more of him.

She was on the verge of pulling her leathers straight off when she was reminded of how badly she needed to bathe. She was covered in grime and a frozen layer of three day old sweat, plus her hair was a mess. It was a desperate struggle to pull away, to unlock her lips from his mouth, and she panted with the effort as she finally forced herself to fall back against the wall behind her.

“I really need that bath,” she said, trying not to get pulled back into the vortex of his cupid’s bow lips. His face hung just a whisper away from hers, his breathing coming fast and heavy. She rolled her eyes closed as the heat between her legs throbbed, rolling involuntarily against his solid bulge.

“Right,” he breathed. “Yes, Mahanon usually calls a meeting in the War room about an hour or so after he returns, and he’ll want you there for this one. So there’s not much time.”

“Will you be joining me?”

“I can walk you over there and stay for a few minutes. But I have a few things to gather before the meeting, so I’ll have to meet you in the War room with everyone else,” he said. He pulled away, leaving her body cold and quivering in the aftermath of his contact, and ran to his desk, pulling something small out of the top drawer.

“A key to your new quarters, my lady,” he said as he took her hand again, placing the ancient looking metal piece in her palm. Avery looked down at it, barely able to comprehend what it meant. Maker, none of this felt real at all. And to think such a short time ago everything had been so drastically different.

 

She was still smiling as they made their way down the battlements to the tower that had been her quarters for all of three nights. It was larger than she remembered it, with her half full bottle of whiskey still sitting on her table and a stack of books at the bedside. The trunk in which she’d placed her clothing was gone, presumably the item that had been moved. But in the center of the room was the small copper tub, still steaming with freshly warmed water.

“Another reason to keep this tower,” he said as he nodded toward the tub, “the runners would hate us if we tried to make them climb the ladder carrying buckets of water. Though I suppose there’s always the office, as long as the doors are locked and I’m not working,” he said. “Not that I could get anything done with you bathing in front of me anyway.”

Anxious to slough off the grime of so many days of mountain travel, Avery began shrugging off the pieces of her leathers without hesitation. She’d lost track of how long it had been already since her return, with Cullen’s hypnotic eyes and heady kisses seeming to warp her perception of time. Butterflies took flight in her stomach as those very eyes followed the unveiling of her skin, feasting darkly on the exposed sections of flesh as piece after piece of leather and fabric fell away. She too couldn’t help but eye him as she went, particularly the bulge in his pants, growing increasingly prominent and defined. It only took moments before she was completely naked, feeling the nerves that had filled her as he’d cornered her in his office finally begin to calm. There was no mistaking the burning lust in his gaze, in the sharp outline of his rigid cock as it strained against his leather breeches. The visible effect she had on him was thrilling, and her memory flashed with so many nights in Kirkwall, when he’d practically come just from watching her.

She reminded herself that there wasn’t time for the things she was envisioning doing to him in that moment, that she needed to bathe, and he needed to leave to go do Commander things, and then there was a meeting. She swayed on her feet slightly, feeling as though as the blood had completely drained out of her head. What she wanted to do was go rip his breeches off, get on her knees and swallow his cock whole. But instead she turned, her legs wobbly with a raging lust, and climbed gingerly into the tub, moaning as the hot water climbed up her calves and pulled the thick layer of frost out of her bones. To the Void with those damned Frostbacks. If she never left Skyhold again that would be just fine.

Cullen dropped to a kneel beside the tub and watched her with a beatific expression, his face brightened by a healthy flush of pink to his cheeks and lips. She would work those dark shadows out of his eyes completely over time, she vowed. With better sleep, with someone to help him through the headaches and the nightmares, Anon would have no reason to push lyrium onto him again. Certainly not if she’d had anything to say about it.

He pulled off a glove and reached a hand out to caress the apple of her cheek, and she leaned into his touch. Under the adoring warmth of his amber gaze she felt whole again, felt safe and full to bursting with a precious, renewed hope. She kissed his palm and nuzzled into his hand, sighing contentedly for the hundredth time.

“I love you,” she told him. “I hope that you’ve never doubted that. I’ve never loved anything in my life the way that I love you, Cullen.”

The smile that lit up his face struck an unexpected chord of sadness in her. She watched in surprise as his eyelids reddened a little and his lip quivered. He furrowed his brows and blinked hard.

“Me too,” he answered softly, and he leaned forward to press a kiss into her temple. “Me too.”

He rose quickly and made for the door, stopping to cast her a shaky, but reassuring smile. “I’ll see you in the meeting,” he said quietly, “once it’s over, I’m all yours. I’ve given word to the men that we’re not to be disturbed for the rest of the night.”

 

 

 

 

She entered the War room via a massive wooden door at the end of a partially crumbled corridor, and smiled a sheepish greeting as she realized she was the last one to join them. Cullen stood with a proud grace that normally would have marked him as a noble, though his open disdain for nobility quickly put that notion to rest if one were ever to mention the resemblance. Beside him hovered Josephine and Leliana, chatting quietly on one side of the expansive, ornately carved table, while Cassandra and Anon took the side closest to the door. Avery felt Cullen’s gaze following her as they all exchanged greetings and small talk, before Anon finally spoke up authoritatively, officially calling the meeting to order.

Her eyes were drawn repeatedly to Cullen, admiring how the red and black of his attire seemed to enhance the flecks of gold in his eyes and make his skin appear creamy and robust. The red drapes of fabric softened the lines and rivets of the rigid looking chestplate, drawing the eye to its pleasing combination of textures. And crowned of course by that strong, stubbled jaw and beautiful profile, making it no surprise that the Commander was the object of so much admiration from other women in Skyhold. Avery felt a swell of pride to be the woman he chose, the gleeful recipient of his long held devotion and adoration.

His gaze kept flicking over to meet hers, growing warm as he eyed her in return, now clean and freshly attired since the bath. She’d run a comb through her hair and let it lay loose over her shoulders, and dressed in one of the few mage robes she still retained. It was a simple, light blue garment and nothing at all like the red one he’d admired, but it was soft, well fitted and comfortable. She’d be doing no fighting in Skyhold anyway, so there was no need to wear her leathers around. It might even be prudent to invest in more plainclothes, at least whenever the time came that she wouldn’t be pulled with no notice to travel and fight with Anon and his crew.

The giddy grin she’d worn earlier was trying to make a resurgence and she pressed it down, reminding herself that she really ought to be paying attention to whatever it was that Anon was saying. She heard the words they were all speaking to each other, familiar names repeatedly uttered such as “Corypheus” and “Grey Wardens” and “Stroud” and “Western Approach” but the actual story those words fit within eluded her. Just when she thought she had a thread of it, Cullen would shift on his feet or make some other slight movement that immediately drew her eye. There was nothing much she could add to everything Stroud had told Anon anyway, and she just couldn't keep her attention from wandering down to the handsome man at the far end of the table. The man that she couldn’t wait to bed at the first possible opportunity.

She eyed the table before them, noting the considerable amount of space on the table top, and wondered if they might ever be able to sneak into the War room sometime when it wasn't in use. She couldn’t help but imagine the scene as she admired the tantalizingly striking vision of him. She would strip him of every piece of that beautiful armor and lay him out over the table, maybe even secure him to it somehow, so that he couldn’t interrupt her as she feasted upon his body. She’d want to take her time, splaying him open and letting her tongue and fingers explore every hill and crevice of him, until he begged her to finish him off. There was probably more than electricity that she could use on him now. Maybe a bead of ice here, a spark of heat there. She could just imagine the glorious sounds of his voice echoing through the highest chambers of the room as he cried to the heavens. And with the buffer of that long corridor, no one would hear it. Except maybe poor Ruffles.

The trick would be to make sure all the big iron figures scattered throughout the table were put back in their original places afterward.

Cullen’s lip had also begun to curl slightly as he noticed her own attempt at suppressing a grin and finally she had to look away, for fear of outright laughing for joy. Surely that would be the most inappropriate thing she could possibly do in a place called the War room, especially during a discussion of such grave importance. The others were securing their very future, figuring out how to save the world, how to deal with the threat facing the Grey Wardens, heroes that all of Thedas owed their very lives to. And here she could only concentrate on ogling her lover.

 _Right: Corypheus controlling Grey Wardens, demon army, Breach, end of the world, et cetera. Pay attention Avery._  She cleared her throat and straightened her back, finally drawing her eyes over to Anon and the rest of the party.

To her horror they were all staring at her. She shifted her weight on her feet, waiting for a moment in case this was just a pause in whatever they had been talking about. But the second stretched into eternity and still no one spoke. Anon looked like he was on the verge of laughing, his dark eyes knowingly flicking back and forth between her and Cullen.

“Um,” she swallowed and cleared her throat again. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Would you mind writing that letter to Stroud?” Cassandra repeated.

“A letter. Of course,” Avery answered. “Um, do you want that… right away? Like, now?”

Anon finally gave in and laughed at her. Avery clamped her mouth shut, feeling her cheeks grow hot as the other advisors exchanged amused glances.

“Should we put a bag over his head?” Leliana asked teasingly as she nodded to Cullen. “Maybe that would help?”

“I beg your pardon,” Cullen said with a scowl.

“Oh you’re no better Commander,” Leliana said, “I’d offer to put one over her head too but she is a guest here, and that would be rude. Don't you agree Ambassador?”

"Very rude indeed," confirmed Josephine. "It will have to be you Commander."

“She is to be more than just a guest here,” Cullen informed them. Leliana raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. “And you will not be putting a bag anywhere on either of us.”

Finally the laughter bubbled up out of control and Avery found herself giggling gleefully, which only seemed to feed Anon’s laughter. Josie and Leliana just watched with quiet eyes, shaking their heads and clearly trying to suppress their own amusement. Avery glanced quickly at Cullen to see him flushed pink and struggling to maintain his scowl.

“This is highly inappropriate,” added Cassandra with audible disapproval.

Avery cleared her throat yet again, forcing away the laughter and giving a meek nod to Cassandra. She was right of course, it was completely inappropriate. The things they were supposed to be discussing were no laughing matter at all. But there was a sparkle in Cassandra’s eye that hinted that she understood a little more than she let on.

“Yes, I will send a letter to Stroud. Of course,” Avery said, stifling her giggle and mustering up her most business-like tone. “Whatever you need.”

“That way he does not rush to the Western Approach since we won’t be trekking out there right away,” continued Cassandra. “Once we return from dealing with the threat to Empress Celene we’ll let him know when to expect us.”

Anon finally calmed himself and flashed her a reassuring grin, “Thanks Champion. You don’t need to stay for the rest of the meeting. I’ll catch you up on what you missed later on. Commander Pink Cheeks won’t be much longer, either.”

Avery nodded, casting a parting glance at Cullen, who was doubling down on his scowl and rubbing the back of his neck. She caught his eye for a brief second, and then quietly exited the room.

 

 

 

 

He’d said he’d asked them not to be disturbed, she reminded herself as she wandered around his office. She’d let herself in with the key, climbed the ladder into the loft and confirmed that her trunk and the important items from her pack were sitting handily next to his, in the part of the room not exposed by the broken ceiling. She’d thrown herself down on the bed, which was much larger than the one in her quarters, — no, her  _former_  quarters — and more nicely outfitted as well. The sheets were considerably softer, well worn and silky and far from the crisp, freshly starched ones that she’d had on her bed. She held his pillow to her face and breathed in, the scent of sandalwood and musky man filling her senses like a drug, and she sighed ecstatically. How long had he lived here now? How many nights had she slept, or tried to, in this very spot while she’d wandered around Thedas, empty and closed off to the world?

It didn’t matter. She’d said that to herself before, hammered it in to her own head on the day she first arrived in Skyhold in fact, but now it was _really_  true. She’d be lying if she claimed she was completely without trauma or troubling thoughts. She still had the memories of the Gallows after all, bodies swaying in their nooses, of the deaths of innocents in the streets. Demons and abominations and blood mage sacrifices. She still carried the secret of her part in the explosion of the Chantry too, a secret that really only weighed on her in the moments she chose not to factor in Anders’ lies and manipulation. Whatever Cole had done had not healed everything wrong in her heart. But things were still so very different now, and whatever pain she’d carried around for the past four years seemed muted and distant. Could it possibly be true that she was getting exactly what she’d prayed for back in Kirkwall? A future with Cullen, a future that he wanted just as badly as she did?

His office was nice. The cold stone of the walls turned pleasantly dusky once the candles and lanterns were lit, and the cushy red rug in the middle of the room made the room feel cozy and warm. The windows that looked down into the terrifying valley were long and protectively thin, letting in the golden light of sunset and revealing only a sliver of towering mountainside. It was a comfortable space, appointed with just enough not to be distracting for a man who needs to work, but a few touches here and there that made the place feel homey.

She was anxious for Cullen’s arrival, jittering nervously as she read the titles of the spines of his books, books about strategy, fighting styles and the weaponry used by different types of warriors throughout Thedas. It was extra appealing to see that he was not only a fighter, but also a reader, a man who studied and sought higher learning. She could tell by the way he composed his letters, and how easily he seemed to produce them, that the education he received through the Chantry was of the highest grade. And of course he would strive to be as good as possible at his job, especially now that he was out from under the Chantry’s oppressive control and free to be the leader that he wanted to be. So much depended on his ability to command his troops effectively, and judging by the success of the Inquisition so far, he’d excelled at that just as he had within the Order.

She’d love to just watch him work. Sitting at his desk, taking messages and making important decisions. Maybe one of these days she could slip under his desk while he worked, and fulfill that fantasy that she’d had ever since Kirkwall.

A thrill traveled through her body as she thought again about that sharp bulge in his those tight leather breeches, and about taking him on the War table and making him scream. So many things she wanted to do now, now that their time and access to each other was nearly unlimited. Her legs trembled with anticipation, feeling the pulsing center of her sex growing slick with increasing desire. Ever since she’d read the letter about how he’d woken up thinking about her mouth on his cock, she’d been able to think of little else herself, and she fully intended to get a taste of him whenever he finally arrived.

As she stepped lightly throughout the office she made her way from door to door, confirming that each one was locked to ensure their privacy, assuming that he had his own key to let himself in. And she figured she might as well be ready for him, as there was no question what was going to occur as soon as he arrived. She reached behind her to unbutton the top of her robe, loosening it enough that it could be dropped down her body. Since her smalls would likely just be ripped off if she left them on, she discarded them as well, kicking them toward the robe that was left at the base of the ladder.

It was exhilarating to be walking around naked in a new, unfamiliar space. It felt a little daring, a little naughty. This was supposed to be a place for making plans and conducting business, usually full of soldiers at attention, taking the orders to fight and defend. But her mind was quickly flooded with many other things that could happen on a regular basis in the room, and she smiled to herself as she grabbed a book about daggers off his shelf and settled down into the chair behind his desk to keep herself occupied until he showed.

 

His face when he finally entered the office was worth the wait, his eyes turning wide as he locked the door behind him then prowled across the room toward her. With the pauldron casting a wide shadow as he approached, she felt more than ever like prey under the gaze of an animal preparing to pounce and devour. When his hands flew up to begin removing his own pieces of armor she rose, making her way over to quickly grab his arms.

“No wait,” she said, “keep it on for now. I like it.”

He dropped his hands in acquiescence and let his eyes roam down her, growing glassy and black. She could practically feel his gaze as it stopped to linger over her breasts, taking in her bare thighs and the dark patch of curls that peppered the throbbing heat at the apex of her legs.

“Maker’s breath,” he breathed, his voice raspy and pained as a flush climbed up his neck.

“Sorry, I decided to go ahead and get comfortable in my new home,” she explained with a little shrug.

“I see,” he said, swallowing hard. “Well by all means. Though you are setting a dangerous precedent. Now I will forever be disappointed anytime I enter my office and you’re not sitting naked behind my desk.”

“Well I shall endeavor to disappoint you as little as possible, Commander.”

His lip curled into that half smile of his and he took a deep, steadying breath.

“I wish I could have moved you in here much sooner.”

The one item she helped him remove were his gloves, wanting to feel the hands that touched her, and the hands themselves to feel the flesh they explored. He lowered his head as she worked, tilting his mouth toward hers, honing in on a breathy kiss while she dropped one glove onto the floor, and then the other. Their lips brushed together softly, parting and bumping, breathing from each other’s air as she advanced on him, pushing the towering mass of him with her body and directing him toward the chair of his desk. His hands cupped her breasts, fully possessing the fleshy mounds with his broad palms, rolling his fingers over her nipples until her breath hitched in her throat, then scorching up the wall of her chest to her neck, hungrily pulling her mouth into his while she worked patiently at the ties of his breeches. After a deep, searing kiss he pulled his lips away and dragged them lightly down the length of her neck starting under her ear, his breath coming hot on her skin, the tip of his tongue tracing its way to her collar bone before nipping over her shoulders. She could only stand frozen into place as his mouth worked on her, sending shivers rippling down her skin, hardening her nipples into little points as that bud of nerves between her legs throbbed insistently with the need to be touched.

Finally she pushed him down into his desk chair, the thick rod of his cock breaking free from his breeches and protruding tantalizingly from the leather flaps. In a swift move he was plunged fully into her mouth, the broad cockhead hitting the back of her throat as she lowered her body between his legs. His gasp sounded almost like a sob, and strong fingers immediately wound in her hair as she raked up his leather clad thighs. She looked up at him and swirled her tongue around the ridge of his cockhead, suckling and gulping, relaxing her throat in stages so she could manage as much of his length as possible.

Hooded eyes watched her, panting jagged breaths through open lips, and she took him in again and again, stopping when he was breaching the limits of her throat so she could breathe in the salty, musky scent nestled within the golden curls at the base. Maker, it smelled like pure  _man,_  lusty and carnal and drenched in the promise of sex. It only made her hungrier for him, made her more determined to feel him buck beneath her as she teased his cock to the heights of pleasure.

“Fuck,” he whispered, “Avery… Maker…. Fuck.” His hips began to gyrate in time with the plunging of her head, his fingers tightening in her hair until the tension bit at her scalp. Somehow the little tinges of pain traveled directly to that aching in her core, stoking the fire that burned there and called out to be plundered.

His enraptured, blissful face was a thing of beauty, enhanced to unnatural extremes by the lush mane of his pauldron, by the increasing moans of desperation escaping his lips as his head rolled against the back of the chair. She wanted to get onto the desk and lay on her back, taking him in as deeply as she could and letting him control the pace the way she had at the Inn, but there was something irresistible about seeing him occupying his spot behind his desk, ruling the room like a King on his throne, fully dressed in his gallant suit of armor while she was on her knees servicing him. It satisfied that little piece of her that wanted to be overpowered, wanted to be made small and simple, to exist solely for his pleasure. And the sight of him there made her moan as she devoured him, fitting her tongue into every groove, sliding along every vein, pushing flat and wide along the breadth of him while she sucked, simultaneously working her hand along the base of his cock.

“Oh Maker, Fucking Fuck…” he gasped as the rocking of his hips turned to full on bucking, lifting off the seat of his chair as one hand held her hair and one hand scraped across her shoulders.

In another swift move, she’d pulled away from him completely and stood, leaving him panting and coiled in his seat, his pink cock glistening, looking on the verge of bursting. Her intent was to climb on the desk, but before she could do anything she was jerked forcefully toward him and his tongue was penetrating her slit while one of his hands slid between her thighs to spread her legs open for him.

He groaned as he lapped at her, one hand bruising into the flesh of her thigh while the other hand dug fingers into the cheek of her ass. She yelped as finally her buzzing clitoris received the stimulation it’d been screaming for, and he pressed his face deeply into her, scraping her sensitive inner flesh with the stubble on his cheek and jaw. His tongue skillfully lashed against all the right places, and she grabbed his hair and bucked toward his face, groaning and keening with the irresistible sweetness of the rapidly building ecstasy.

“Let me get on the desk,” she panted, feeling her focus pulled more and more deeply inward, responding to the song of her body. He groaned with disappointment as he let her go, but it was only seconds before she was on her back with her head hanging off the edge, guiding his cock back into her mouth, able now to take incrementally more of him in. His hands searched her body, and then they disappeared, occupying themselves elsewhere as she guided his hips forward and back, encouraging him to take control.

A soft breeze stirred her hair, followed by a  _whump_  as his pauldron his the floor. And then the clatter of metal banging together, and a pause as hands pushed the leather breeches further down his legs. One hand snaked around her head again, threading through her hair and gripping tightly at the back of her head as he pumped long strokes in and out of her mouth. She could hear him breathing and hissing with each stroke, his exhales turning into wanton, desperate growling. A heavy hand fell on her breast and pinched at her nipples, frozen there momentarily when it caused her to moan in response

“Maker!” he hissed as she moaned, and she remembered the reaction she’d gotten last time as she hummed around his cock. She happily continued vocalizing, feeling his hips tense and his thrusts quicken as she hummed and sucked and tongued him. She fell into a blissful delirium, her body and mouth surrendered completely to the hulking man pounding toward ecstasy, and barely even noticed as her own hand wandered toward her aching mound, pressing at the thrumming center of nerves within her soaked nest of curls.

But Cullen apparently didn’t approve, as the hand gripping her hair and steadying her head released, and she was shocked out of her reverie by a hot, solid torso laying itself upon hers, just as hands slid under her back to her ass, lifting her hips enough to give his mouth access again. She wrapped her arms around his waist and groaned hard against the pounding of his cock and the exquisite torture of his tongue flicking against her clitoris, all the while his own sweetly anguished whimpers buzzed against her slit. The tempest of sensations mixed with the heady musk of sex, driving her hard and fast toward the precipice of oblivion. Almost immediately she could feel the extra bit of tightening in his cock that indicated he was close, and she redoubled her efforts, sucking and humming and sliding one hand around his bollocks and pressing languorously into the tight bud of his rear.

“Ungh Fuck, Avery, Fuck!!” he cried out, his head pulling away to rest on her hip while his hands squeezed hard at whatever flesh happened to be closest, finding her thighs and the cleft of her ass. His cock twitched and remained buried deep inside her mouth as it began pulsing streams of hot, tangy liquid into her throat. She kept suckling, milking every drop of seed from his twitching member as his hips tightened and released, rolling and bucking in slower and slower waves. When finally he fell limp, she moved to release him completely before the emptied appendage grew overly sensitive.

The room spun for a moment as she wiped her mouth and adjusted back to to a stable, still existence. Her own sex still throbbed insistently, radiating need through her thighs and up to her breasts, but she knew her time would come. She and Cullen still had all night.

Cullen dropped to his knees beside the desk and rested his head on her shoulder, his breaths heaving, and she could feel the quivering in his hands as he threaded through her hair again, cupping her head and massaging her scalp.

“Are you okay?” he panted into her ear. She smiled at the earnest concern in the question, as though she hadn’t been the one to devise and urge him into that whole encounter.

“I am… fantastic…” she answered honestly. She’d been spending her nights dreaming about taking him in her mouth, and that desire had been fully, thoroughly satisfied.

He laughed quietly between heavy breaths, and turned to cover her face with kisses, peppering them into her hair, her temples, her brow.

“You are remarkable,” he sighed into her ear. She blinked away the fog of bliss and pulled away from him to roll onto her belly. The few items he kept on his desk were now scattered across the floor, and it occurred to her that she hadn’t even heard them fall. She climbed off the desk, legs still shaky as she took Cullen’s hand and helped him stand. His leather breeches were gathered over the tops of his boots, and he paused a moment, apparently considering whether to take them all off, but instead he just pulled them up.

“I’ll take them off up there,” he said, pointing to the ladder. “We might as well go somewhere that you can lay down more comfortably, because I don’t plan on letting you up for a very long time.”

She flashed him a wicked grin as she admired the carved muscle of his bare torso, his warrior’s physique never failing to impress no matter how many times she’s seen it. But there were still those little differences that reminded her just how long it had been since she’d been able to admire him on a regular basis. If even Kirkwall could have been considered regular. Again she studied the new scars and patches of magically healed flesh that peppered the round bulk of his shoulders and chest. She felt the pull toward him as she always did when they were close, and before she knew what her body was doing it had carried her to him, tucking herself against the firm swells of that golden skin and nuzzling into the crook of his neck. He held her tightly, enveloping her in his solid arms and she immediately felt the pounding of his heart against his chest, reverberating powerfully through his body and into hers. It was as slow and steady as she remembered it, pounding away the seconds in his life with a clockwork precision. She sighed as she collapsed against him, letting him bear the weight of her for a moment as she listened to the familiar, beloved heartbeat of the man she loved. Her own chest swelled with adulation, filling up with the experience of him until there didn’t seem to be room inside her for anything else.

“My love,” she sighed, not even sure what she intended to come after that. “This… this right here is exactly where I belong.”

He pressed a kiss into her hair and exhaled a shaky breath, his arms squeezing more tightly. She slid an arm to wrap around his waist and pulled him closer with all the strength she could muster. It didn’t seem she would ever get him close enough.

“Yes it is,” he agreed quietly. 


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Avery and Cullen get some bonding time and some boning time.

Avery stood under the hole in the ceiling, gaping up into the million pinpricks of sparkling light filling every possible piece of the heavens while Cullen climbed up the ladder behind her. The purple streaks of the waning sunset were still blushing the deep blue of the late evening sky, and she found herself marveling at how completely comfortable the temperature was even under the exposure of the mountain air.

“Wow,” she sighed as she stared up at the sky. The stars had always been a source of awe for Avery, but something about viewing them comfortably from inside her new quarters, quarters situated at the very top of a giant mountain, made them seem all the brighter and more vibrant.

“I know,” Cullen whispered as he wrapped his arms around her waist and nestled up against her. “It’s beautiful isn’t it?” he asked. “Sometimes fireflies find their way in by following the ivy. It’s…breathtaking, and not in the way I usually experience…”

Avery pulled his arms tight around her and let her weight fall back to rest upon him. She didn’t remember the last time she had smiled so much.

“So, um, you’re… quite good at all that…” Cullen sheepishly. “Down there. Did you get a … er, um. I mean, you must have had a lot of….”

He sighed. “No. _Maker._ What I mean is that you’re very skilled.”

Avery laughed. She hadn’t heard him get flustered like that since Kirkwall. “Thank you. I’m glad you think so.”

“So… you know that I have spent a good portion of my life in the Chantry… since I was thirteen, and,” he said. “I mean, you know that my experience is probably miniscule compared to yours… No, that doesn’t sound nice either, does it? Um. I must admit I’m a little worried that I might not be able to…”

He sighed again. “ _Maker._ Nevermind. I should probably just… stop talking.”

She continued to laugh quietly as she turned to kiss at his shoulder, a deep satisfaction in her belly that she could get such a reaction out of him.

“It’s okay, love,” she said reassuringly, “I know you said there had only been the one before me. And, well I read that letter about the girl. Or at least the first one… who propositioned you. I don’t know if there are others…”

“The girl… right. Yes. I’m so sorry you had to read that…” he said nervously.

“Don’t apologize, love,” she said softly. She’d never expected them to ever be together again, much less for him to wait for her. “I understand.”

She squeezed his arms and let her head roll over to nuzzle into his neck.

“If there’s anything you want to know about my, er, experience, or our time apart, you can ask. You gave me a window into the last four years with your letters, and I cannot quite provide the same. But I can answer questions, if you have any,” she offered, feeling a slight flutter of nervousness herself. She wasn’t quite sure how he’d react to some of the things she might have to say, but it would be better to be out with it now than for him to learn about it later, unexpectedly. Such as if Fenris were to visit and mention the whole thing with them and Anders.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to pry.”

“Cullen, please pry,” she said, turning around to cup his jaw. “I am all yours. And we’re not holding anything back, remember?”

“Right. Yes,” he nodded as he spoke.

“If there’s anything you want to know, then you should know.”

“Well… um…” he paused. “I mean, it’s not like it matters now, right?”

Avery shrugged, “It does if it makes you worry. You said you were worried you might not be able to… what?”

He dropped his head down to rest lightly against the top of hers and sighed.

“So you and Anders were together for a couple years…” he began.

“We were,” she confirmed, then figured she might as well elaborate so he didn’t have to ask, “And Anders… had quite an, er… _experimental_ past, which caused him to develop some, um, interesting tastes when it came to sex. He knew things. A lot of things, actually, that applied to both men and women. So…” she said, feeling her heart begin to pound in her ears. “Lets just say he passed a bit of that on to me.”

She pulled Cullen over to the bed, and settled herself on top of the blanket while he sat on the edge and began unlacing his boots. It was too dark in the room to see his expression, and he was nerve-wrackingly quiet as his fingers worked his boots loose. Avery slid up behind him and began kneading into the muscles of his shoulders, a flutter of worry making itself known in her stomach.

“So I have Anders to thank for your… expertise?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“I see. And then you and Fenris? You know, I remember the way you used to look at him. I always thought it would be you and Fenris that got together. It was quite a surprise to me when you ended up with Anders instead.”

She sighed and placed a kiss on the back of his neck. “Well.. Me and Fenris did. Before Anders.”

“I… oh.”

“Fenris and I had one night. Less than one night actually. But I… cared for him, for a long time before that, and after.”

“And then you two, again, after you left Kirkwall?”

“Yes,” Avery swallowed down her nerves and took a deep breath. “And for a time between that as well…”

Cullen remained quiet as he pulled each boot off and set it down next to the bed. Avery wasn’t sure why exactly she was so nervous. Just because he lived in the Chantry didn’t mean he was completely sheltered from the world. And surely once he had taken his vows and was living in barracks with other men he’d have heard stories about the things people would get up to together. She couldn’t help but recall how completely red his face was the time Isabela had cornered him, but that was years ago.

“Me and Anders… were both with Fenris. Together,” she added finally.

“You and Anders… _and_ Fenris?”

“Yes. We, the three of us were all… a thing for a little while. A few months. And remember I told you that Anders and I separated because he preferred someone else? That someone else ended up being Fenris. I was sort of pushed to the outskirts of that whole arrangement. And eventually excluded entirely.”

“I see. Well that’s… not very nice of them.”

She laughed softly, but stifled it down. His tone was still worryingly neutral. Maker she wished she could at least see his face, and get a glimpse of what sorts of things he might have been thinking about this new information. Would he have been mad that she hadn’t shared it earlier? Should she have told him back in Kirkwall? She stopped rubbing his shoulders and pressed herself against his back, slipping her arms under his to wrap around the firm hills of his chest.

“No, it wasn’t nice at all,” she agreed, “but it _was_ what drove me to go cry by myself at the ledge that day. Where you found me. So… as much as it hurt then, I’m glad for it now.”

Her words hung in her ears as she realized she must have been holding her breath. She gulped down some air and nuzzled into him again, kissing the tops of his shoulders and breathing in the delicious musk of him.

“Do you think differently of me?” she asked meekly.

This time he laughed and she was relieved to hear it, he squeezed her arms and then pulled away, turning so that he was facing her again, despite how little they could actually see. Wherever the moon was, it was not helping. She could bring up a ball of flame or electricity, but she wanted her hands free. She needed to touch him, to reassure him, in whatever way possible. Maybe Solas would teach her how to conjure up some wisps for future evenings like this. Or maybe they should have just brought up a bloody lantern.

“Differently? No. But…” he said finally, and then paused. Avery’s heart was still rushing in her ears as she waited… waited for the ‘but’. She was afraid there’d be a ‘but’, and now the seconds stretched on and on while he seemed to try to phrase it.

“What?” she asked finally.

“Well, you’ve been with two men, at the same time… one of whom you say had ‘interesting tastes’… and you _enjoyed_ all of that?”

“Yes,” she admitted with a sigh. “I did.” He paused for a moment while he stared down into the darkness between them.

“But I am only one man, Avery, and a rather inexperienced one at that, at least in comparison. I don’t know any tricks, or special moves or anything. Am I going to be enough for you?”

It took a moment to realize his statement was not one of anger or even annoyance that she’d waited so long to come out with that information. But the thought of Cullen being in any way insecure because of it seemed almost outrageous. How could this beautiful, powerful man be concerned that he wouldn’t be enough? Her worry melted away, and she pulled him close, holding his jaw as she searched the shadows of his face.

“Love” she cooed softly, ”you already are enough. You have been enough since the first time you kissed me. ‘Enough’ doesn’t even do you justice. You’re _everything_.”

She felt his cheek lift as he snorted a quiet laugh.

“I’ve been with four men including you, and I want you to be the last, Cullen. I don’t need anything or anyone else. Please don’t ever doubt that.”

She felt his brow furrow slightly.

“The first was Brian, back in Lothering. We grew up together and when we were teenagers we thought we loved each other for a little while. But he died in the blight,” she explained.

He nodded his understanding.

“So, then, will you… teach me? The things you like? Anything I could do better or differently?” he asked as he smoothed back her hair. “I want to do for you what you did for me in the office. What you always do for me. Maker’s breath I didn’t even know it was possible to feel like _that_.”

“Of course my love. Haven’t I already?”

He laughed quietly, “Yes, I suppose you have.”

“You have nothing to worry about, Commander. I know you’ve heard the way you’ve made me scream.”

She sighed as his warm palms rubbed up her back, heating the skin beneath as he gripped her tightly.

“Yes,” he laughed softly. “That I have. Well, good. But still, I want to know everything you like no matter what it is. Educate me, and don’t hold back with this either. With anything. Ever,” he whispered, his mouth slowly moving closer to hers.

“I won’t. And the same goes for you. If there’s ever anything that you’re… curious about, or want to explore… ” she said as she caressed his cheek. “In fact, lesson number one, which I am sure I have already mentioned, but I really like it when you take control. Tell me what to do. _Command_ me. You should be used to doing that anyway, right Commander?”

He was still for a moment, and she wondered for a second if maybe he wouldn’t like doing that.

“Yes,” he said with an audible smile, the confidence in his voice growing again. “Yes, that I can definitely do.”

“Good,” she sighed.

As if to demonstrate, he pushed her back onto the bed and prowled up her body, stopping to deliver a scorching kiss. The force of it pressed her hard into the mattress and a moan loosed itself from her throat as she sank back into the power of it, gleefully savoring the feeling of being completely overwhelmed by his strength. He pulled away quickly, too quickly, and she let out a whine of disappointment.

“There is another letter… after I… had someone. Someone different from the girl you just read about. I’m sorry… it’s one of the ones I was going to pull. I honestly didn’t think you’d ever read them. I still don’t want you to read that one, assuming you haven’t gotten that far yet. But it’s in there. So, unless you let me take it back… I’m sorry.”

“Cullen,” she sighed, “my love, it’s okay. I fully expected that you’d try to move on,” she explained softly. “Please, try not to worry about it. I love you, and you love me and we’re together and nothing is going to keep us apart ever again, certainly not a letter or two about other women in your past. They couldn’t have meant much, otherwise they’d be here now, right?”

“I know, but…”

“And actually, if you want to know it was that first letter that sort of put what happened in the office in my mind to begin with,” she informed him.

“Put in your mind? You mean, you’ve been planning to do that? Since before you got back? I mean I know the nakedness was obviously, er, premeditated…”

“I’ve been thinking about it for the last several nights at least. A great deal in fact. While alone in my tent,” she teased. “If you catch my meaning.”

“Oh,” he gasped as he hovered over her and thought a moment. “Oh,” he said again. Slowly his grip on her began to tighten, hips rolling forward to grind into hers. A large, solid mass making itself known as it nestled firmly against her reawakening sex, and with disappointment she realized that he was still wearing his pants.

“Maker’s breath,” he gasped as his whole body coiled and tensed against her. “You were… thinking of _that_ … while you were…”

“I was thinking of _you_ ,” she said, enjoying the effect this information was having on him. “But as you said yourself, my hand could never in a million years feel like you and your lips.”

He whimpered as he pressed into her again, his bulge achingly hard as it scraped against the electrified lips of her sex. Despite the almost unpleasant friction of the leather breeches, a shivery chill ran directly from between her legs and out to the furthest reaches of her body, inflaming the need to be joined with him, to feel every blazing inch of his skin with hers.

Finally she plunged her hands between them and pulled on the waist of his breeches, ready to have them off, needing to get him inside her. She tried to sit up a little to get better leverage and immediately his mouth crashed into hers, stunning her with its renewed urgency. She gasped as she adjusted to the intrusion of his tongue and let her own join it, entangling and tasting his, merging completely into one hot, impassioned dance. Her hands forgot their task, and she relaxed and gave over to him, momentarily going limp in his arms as he cupped her head and devoured her mouth as deeply as he ever had before.

And then he was off again, leaving her panting in the aftermath of his kiss while his mouth worked lower, covering her neck in hot, wet kisses, slurping hungrily over her nipples, biting down just hard enough to make her yelp as she pulled at his hair. Her quim was on fire, aching with the need to have him inside her, to be filled with him until she could be filled no more. Her inner walls contracted in anticipation, her hips bucking of their own accord against his chest. It wasn’t just his mouth consuming its way down her flesh, it was his hands, squeezing handfuls of her buttocks, her thighs, her breasts. She tried to grab his arms and pull him back up her, to reclaim that mouth of his and let her hands find that gorgeous cock and get it inside her, but he only pulled back at her urging and grabbed her hands.

“No,” he said firmly. “It’s my turn now. I am going to suck on this beautiful cunt of yours and you are going come as hard as you possibly can, do you understand?”

The force in his voice was slightly disorienting, until she remembered that she’d requested that he take control. She smiled deliriously as the air left her lungs, the heat in her belly growing until her muscles went shaky.

“Yes, Commander,” she said breathlessly, practically quaking with anticipation. Her clitoris had begun to throb so palpably that she could count her own heartbeats.

He didn’t leave her waiting for long. After he released her hands, she was swiftly jerked downward, her hips caught up in the hulking strength of his hands and his tongue immediately penetrating into her soaked slit and then dragging stiffly upward toward her stinging bud. A feral sound left her throat that sounded on the verge of a scream, and in return he growled, shaking his head as he buried his tongue in her again, and then locating her bud and sucking with a smooth, calculated force. If he hadn’t had such a firm grip on her hips, she would have bucked hard against his face, but he held her steady as the heat of his mouth surrounded her throbbing clit, simultaneously sucking and flicking the tensed tip of his tongue.

The heady combination of his mouth working so perfectly between her legs, and the impossibly arousing words he’d barked at her left her in a frenzy. She writhed against the bed, feeling the blankets pulling and wadding up around her, her breaths coming fast and heavy as she was being dragged quickly into a state of overwhelming ecstasy. Tingles traveled over her skin as she gasped for breath, and she found herself pinching at her nipples as he worked, the little bite of pain on her breasts only adding to the flood of almost unbearably sweet sensations wracking through the depths of her.

In yet another commanding move, he pushed her thighs up toward her belly and his mouth left her aching clitoris, scorching back down into her slit and plunging in as deeply as it could for several teasing strokes, and then continuing along until his mouth landed on the entrance to her arse. He sucked hard at her cheeks, biting and scraping his teeth around the mounds of sensitive flesh before his mouth went back to the buzzing entrance between them. She gasped in surprise as his tongue delved forcefully against it, dragging slow, exquisite swirls deep within the cheeks of her arse, awakening a whole new flood of sensations in her body. The entirety of her body was thrumming, stimulated to almost unbearable heights, and she clenched against him, gyrating and bucking, feeling on the verge of bursting with the need to come. She sobbed her disappointment when his mouth disappeared. But his tongue was quickly replaced by a finger, pressing and swirling, dragging out long peals of sensation that added to the overwhelming sweetness reverberating out of her aching sex.

“Yes,” she gasped at the contact. She needed him deeper, she didn’t care where or how he entered, he just need to be _inside her_ immediately. “Yes… fuck...”

She heard a groan out of him as a second finger found the entrance to her quim, and the two fingers worked her two entrances simultaneously while her pearl continued to throb for lack of touch.

Slowly he pressed forward, fingers entering, rubbing lazy circles as they went, adding more and more layers of perfect friction to the built up need within her. She gasped and strained toward his hand, her arse buzzing pleasantly, tinged with just the barest trace of of a pleasure enhancing pain. Finally his mouth joined his hand, taking its place back over her thrumming pearl. He worked his hand in and out with a steady rhythm while his tongue worked feverishly against her, and the storm of sensations pounding within her quickly drove her high up onto the crest of a devastating climax. Somewhere in the jumble of thoughts and sensations she marveled at Cullen’s touch, wondering how he could ever worry that he wouldn’t be enough. Tears welled up behind her eyes at the overwhelming intensity of everything crashing through her. Her body was singing, screaming with the sustained unleashing of an otherworldly orgasm, and her heart soared, full and heavy, beating with a love that was so powerful it was frightening.

 _“Cullen,”_ she keened as she grabbed for him, her hands once again finding their way into his hair.

He groaned against her, vibrating into the quaking bud of nerves that was seizing every muscle and dividing her into a million kaleidoscopic pieces, merging and melting and coming undone, gasping profound quakes of orgasm through every cell of her body.

 _“Fuck, Cullen,”_ she whined again, crying his name, feeling the consonants tumble pleasantly over her tongue as they left her lips. The name of the man who owned her, body and soul. _“Cullen,”_ she sighed as she squirmed, the last breaths of her climax slowly waning, easing away, leaving her every last nerve limp and spent.

She pulled gently on his hair to signal that she was through, and he pulled away reluctantly. She realized that somewhere along the way he had slipped in two more fingers, his four fingers now scissored within her two entrances and she keened as he withdrew, leaving behind a body still quivering and shuddering with the remnants of orgasm.

He climbed up the bed and pulled her into this arms, resting her body in the nook between his arm and his shoulder.

“I love it when you call my name like that,” he whispered into her hair. After another breath she turned to wrap herself around him completely, clutching at the heavenly expanse of hot skin at his chest and back.

“Mmmmm…. Maker’s breath,” she breathed, letting her eyes roll open. She was surprised to see that the stars seemed to have entered the bedroom and were floating around over their head. But… no that couldn’t be right. She blinked away the blur of orgasm and tried harder to figure out what she was looking at.

Oh, the fireflies he had mentioned, she realized.

“Wow,” she said again. In the far corner, where the ceiling was opened to the sky were the twinkling of stars behind the glowing bugs, shining all the brighter now that the sky was completely black.

“I’m pretty sure they came to see what was making all those exquisite sounds,” he laughed softly.

She nuzzled into him, kissing at the moistened skin at the base of his neck, breathing in his sweat, his scent, the particles of air lucky enough to cling to every inch of his flesh.

“So no pointers on that session, then?” he asked eventually.

“Mmmmmm…” she moaned again as she sighed. “Nope. That was perfect, Cullen. It always is. You need less direction than you seem to think.”

“Well good,” he sighed. “Still. This is going to be fun. I look forward to getting started on my… education.” She laughed. There was no denying that she was looking forward to it too. Very much.

“I love you,” she sighed contentedly, still reeling at the feeling of being so incomparably _full_. Full of love, and life, and hope, and happiness.

“I love you. I love you so much Avery,” he answered.

“Good.”

 

 

 

The borderline hypnotic trance cast upon her by the slowly swarming fireflies was interrupted by a loud growl from her stomach. They both giggled at it simultaneously.

“Have you eaten since you returned?” he asked.

She shook her head. “I was hungrier for _other_ things first.”

He snorted, “Well Maker’s breath, Avery. Let’s go get you some food.” Before she could protest Cullen was climbing out of bed, pulling on her arm and urging her wobbly muscles upright. She groaned as she followed his direction, looking around the dim shadows of the room and realizing that her robe was still down in the office. She shrugged while Cullen pulled his boots back on, and let herself unsteadily down the ladder, climbing deeper and deeper down into the dark office. The candles there had burned themselves out, as had the lantern. No light of any kind entered through the few slender windows in the office, and she wondered if anyone would even still be up and about in Skyhold.

She slipped the mage robe over her head without bothering with the smalls, and waited patiently for Cullen to join her.

 

Skyhold was quiet and dark, but there were still rumbles of laughter and the sweet strains of the bard coming from the tavern. Occasionally the silhouette of a guard on the battlements would catch her eye, but the courtyard was still.

“We’re going to the kitchens I assume?” she asked as they descended the stairs.

“That is where the food is,” he teased with a squeeze of her hand.

“Would it be out of the question to have a few things in our quarters? Nothing crazy, but, you know… some snacks or something?”

“Of course, my love. I will not have you go hungry.”

Avery smiled, feeling thoroughly blissed out as she cast him giddy glances and stepped barefoot through the grass. He wore his simple linen tunic over his breeches, which somehow looked even better on him than even that impressive uniform he wore during the day. The light linen whispered over the swells of muscle, looking soft and thin, calling out to be touched. And touch she did, indulging in every desire and whim she had to caress him as they made their way across the lawn, pulling him in for a kiss as they stumbled about, holding his gaze for an extra second while they both tried not to walk into a tree or a wall. Maker’s breath, how could he ever worry that he wouldn’t be enough? It only made her want to try harder to reassure him, to show him how he made her feel.

“So how far did you get in the letters?” he asked eventually. She sighed as she tried to yank her mind out of its fog.

“Not too far,” she answered, “I got to the first letter that speaks of your second attempt at taking down your lyrium dose.” He nodded as his eyes searched through his memory, presumably trying to recall what all that letter contained.

“I read what I could when I could while we were out there, but we had… long days and short nights.”

Cullen led her around to the side of the building that housed the Great Hall, and made his way toward an old wooden door hidden in the bottom corner of the towering wall. This was not the way Varric had showed her, which had required going through the Hall and down a set of stairs, winding through a series of basement rooms. She’d thought that the kitchens had seemed awfully far from the bustle of the Great Hall, but the door Cullen was leading her toward seemed much more straight forward.

“Yes, I hear that Mahanon is quite the task master while outside of Skyhold. Which is quite a departure from the Mahanon _inside_ Skyhold,” Cullen answered.

She could hear the note of disdain in his voice as he said the Inquisitor’s name.

“You two seem to have a pretty antagonistic relationship…” she commented, wondering if she could get his side of the story. “He says you don’t approve of his extra-curricular activities.”

“Oh so you asked him about me, did you?” he asked with a smirk as he held the wooden door open for her. She walked through into the kitchen, her eye drawn to the low orange glow coming from the embers in the fireplace. Calling up a crackling ball of flaming light, she searched through the dim room for a lantern or set of candles.

“Yes, I asked why you don’t like him,” she said as she looked around, “So is that it, then? Does the lyrium business have anything to do with it?”

“Not so much the lyrium. I don’t think he truly realizes what that would mean to me, to have to take it again. But I certainly understand his concern, especially after some of the bad days I’ve had,” he explained. Avery frowned. She needed to know more about these bad days.

“I do find all the philandering to be… distasteful. Most especially because he tried to rope me into it not long ago,” he continued. “He sent this woman to me. She was nice enough. Pretty girl, quite young. A little too young for my tastes. But apparently he told her that I was interested in her and I had to break the poor girl’s heart in telling her that I wasn’t,” he said as his brows furrowed.

“He might find that sort of thing funny, but I don’t,” he explained. “I asked him what on earth he was thinking and he had some hairbrained idea about getting me in on this wager of his and Bull’s. He seemed to assume that I was just going to pal around with them, but I have no interest in doing so if _that_ is what they’re going to be doing.”

Avery frowned at the story. That was not very nice at all. As she listened to him she located a lantern and flicked a flame onto the wick, adjusting the light so that they could see what they were doing. She saw a door that must have been the larders, and several shelves full of bread and wheels of cheese. There were counters running along the perimeter of the room, and a set of tables occupying the center. Cullen moved as though he knew the space well, pulling a large iron pan off a rack in the corner, and lowering a grate over the glowing coals.

“Ah, that must be why he called you a stick-in-the-mud,” she sighed.

Cullen snorted. “I can see why he would think so. Though I don’t particularly care what he thinks, as long as he trusts me to do my job. He might be the leader now, and the only one who can close the rifts, but I was here before he was, and many of these soldiers came with me from Kirkwall. They are loyal to me before they are him. He needs me. He knows that and I know that.”

Avery sat on a stool and watched as Cullen ducked into the larders with the pan and a knife, and returned with a pad of butter inside the pan.

“I have no problem with having some fun,” he continued, “none at all, in fact, so long as all parties are willing and know what they’re in for. But after that stunt I wonder just how informed all his ‘conquests’ actually are. He knows I don’t approve. And what is the point, exactly anyway? Why does a man need so many partners? A different one every night just seems… excessive.”

Avery nodded, feeling somewhat disturbed by this new information. She’d shrugged off Anon’s exploits, giving him the benefit of the doubt that he was going about it honestly. But she could see why Cullen would disapprove, and it warmed her heart that he was so protective of the other girls there.

She smiled as she watched him move around the kitchen. She certainly had not intended that Cullen would _cook_ for her. She was surprised the man knew how to cook at all.

“This is perfect,” he said as he set the pan onto the grate above the coals. “If we’d come any later these coals would have been too cold. I’m surprised the staff didn’t snuff them out completely. They must have only just retired for the night.” Quickly the butter began to melt and he tilted the pan to coat the entirety of the bottom before leaving it to continue heating on the grate.

He walked directly to a basket on a far counter and pulled out a loaf of bread, slicing off four thick pieces, then walked back to the fire and dropped them into the sizzling butter. After replacing the bread, he grabbed a chunk of cheese and returned to the table near Avery to begin slicing off slender pieces.

“Perhaps he just hasn’t found the right partner yet,” she said as she watched him work. _Like I have._

“Perhaps. But does he really think he’s going to find it by treating these people like they’re disposable? I mean… I don’t know. He’s certainly not the only person with a predilection for… sampling all the options. But I don’t really understand it, personally.”

“You don’t?”

“No, I don’t. I’ve never had that desire. But I suppose it’s easier when you already know what you want,” he flashed her a knowing grin as he picked up the slices of cheese and returned to the pan, placing them on two slices of the bread, gingerly picking up the two other pieces to place them over the top. He put a lid over the pan and returned to the table.

“You don’t find other women attractive?” she asked curiously, “I’m told you have quite a few admirers around Skyhold.”

“Well I am human. I can’t say I don’t notice when a woman is pretty, but noticing that and wanting to take that person home and get to know them are two different things.” He answered as he placed himself in front of her and came in for a kiss. She sighed as she held his face, savoring the satiny softness of his lips.

“You don’t have to want to get to know them to want to bed them,” she said. “I mean, did you intend to get to know those two women you were with while I was gone?”

He frowned as he sat and thought about it.

“Well… that was different somehow…We all knew what the deal was. And besides, they came to me. I could have said no.”

“But you didn’t,” Avery said gently, as she reached out to caress the back of his hand.

“I didn’t. I only wanted you, but it seemed as though I was never going to have you again. I thought it might help me move on, and it…didn’t. It did the opposite in fact. It wasn’t that I was looking to put names on a list. I was just trying to… I don’t know, deal with some pain I guess.”

She nodded and picked his hand up, laying a soft kiss on his scarred up knuckles. For a moment she thought of him punching the guy in Kirkwall and getting the tooth caught in his gauntlets.

“Maybe Mahanon has pain he is dealing with, too? Maybe that’s part of it?”

“It’s starting to sound suspiciously like you’re trying to soften me toward him…” he said with a raised eyebrow. “You don’t approve of this behavior of his, do you?”

Avery shrugged, “Not at all. I find all that as distasteful as you do,” she explained honestly. “I’m not really trying to do anything, I guess, other than understand a little bit better. I'm sure there must be a reason. He seems like a smart kid. Maybe he's just got more going on than we know. I know what it's like to that have that kind of pressure on your shoulders, and to have it make you... act out inappropriately sometimes. Maker knows I've had my moments.”

“Of course you'd be all compassionate and understanding toward him. I suppose I should've expected nothing less out of you,” he said affectionately. She felt herself blush at the warmth in his amber gaze, the little curl of that deliciously scarred lip that made something in her stomach flip upside down. He stood and placed a kiss on the top of her head, then grabbed a plate and went to the fire, returning with two perfectly crisp, golden sandwiches.

“Eat, love. You’re going to need your strength for the rest of the night,” he said as the wicked little smirk spread. She was struck speechless at the small feast before her, her mouth immediately watering as her stomach continued to grumble its hunger.

The first bite was so perfectly buttery and rich that she accidentally let out a rather obscene sounding moan. The thick slices of bread were crunchy on the outside and soft on the inside, the sharp, nutty cheese within melted to gooey perfection and only just beginning to spill out the sides. As she slavered over the second bite, and then the third, he slid two glasses filled with a deep red wine before them, and then disappeared behind her again, doing something that rattled papers and clinked glasses. She wanted to watch him, to observe this new glance she got of him in his home state. She’d never really gotten to see Cullen in his quarters in the Gallows, or in any of his own space except inside his tent at the old Qunari compound once, and then only for a very short time. He always seemed to be working, always at a post or on alert, watching his men. She’d seen him looking loose and relaxed at her place, but that was still _her_ place. Not his, where he could help himself and go about his normal non-work activities. Watching him move about the kitchen had shown her a side of him that she’d always wondered about, and she could have sat there and just observed him all night. But there simply was no turning away from the immensely satisfying treat in her hands.

“Maker’s breath, Cullen,” she crooned, trying to catch all the hot strings of cheese and get them into her mouth. She hadn’t realized just how hungry she was, especially for something that wasn’t the same old roasted rabbit or handful of nuts and berries they’d had on the return trek from Crestwood. She heard him laugh softly as he scooted a stool up beside her and sat, then a warm hand landed on the small of her back, massaging little circles on either side of her spine. In all her time with Anders and Fenris, she didn’t know if either of them had ever _cooked_ for her. Even something as simple as a cheese sandwich. And Maker, it seemed at that moment to be the best damn sandwich she could ever remember having in her life.

“This can not have been the first time you’ve done this,” she groaned, hearing noises come out of herself that echoed the activities they’d engaged in only moments earlier while in bed.

“Nope. In the Chantry I was given kitchen duties for a while, standard rotation,” he said as he took a deep drink from his glass of wine, “and now, I end up missing lunches and dinners sometimes because of work, so I’ve developed the habit of just coming in here after everyone else is gone and helping myself. No one seems to notice, as long as I clean up afterward.”

“I see. Well,” she swallowed the last bite as she eyed the second one still sitting untouched on the plate, “I assume this one is for you.”

He laughed again. “Well, technically,” he answered, “I missed dinner too.”

“Right, yes, please, get this thing out of my face then,” she pushed the plate away. “Eat it quickly or there’s no telling what might happen to it.” He laughed again. The pleased, almost downright joyful look on his face only made impossible for her to stop smiling at him.

“Do you want to split it?” he asked.

“Yes. Um, no. No. If I need my strength, then so do you,” she answered, but even as she spoke he was tearing the sandwich in half, and offering one to her. The smell of toasted bread and butter only made her salivate more than she already had, and she turned away from him, grabbing up her glass to take a large, distracting gulp of her wine.

The smell got stronger, and she cast a glance toward him to see him sitting there with eyes glinting as he held a sandwich half only inches away from her face. He waved it tauntingly for a moment, his brows raising playfully as he dared her to take it.

She feigned a scowl and took a bite. A very large bite, and she groaned in ecstasy again while he continued to laugh.

“I like a girl with an appetite,” he sighed happily.

“Yes well, I’m just going to go stand over here… way over here…” she said, grabbing her glass of wine and walking around the table to cross over the opposite side of the room. “That way you can’t tempt me with your magical sandwich and end up going hungry yourself.”

Her cheeks ached as she watched him eat, making each bite and gesture extra dramatic and drawn out just for her amusement, trying to lure her back over to him. She giggled deliriously, and for a short time, the strapping Commander of the Inquisition looked positively _boyish_. Avery felt like she knew what he must have looked like as young teen in the Chantry, probably joking around with his friends, sneaking treats from the kitchens, back before the weight of the blight and crazy blood mages and equally crazy Knight-Commanders had forced him to grow up and discard any tendency toward sillyness. She was struck in place for a frozen moment, realizing how incredibly fortunate she was to be there with him, seeing this relaxed, light-hearted side, feeling utterly loved by him. If at any point in Kirkwall, or the time after — most especially the time after — someone had tried to tell her that she would find herself here, now, in a time and place where Cullen was no longer a Templar, with the two of them sharing quarters and embarking upon a new life together in a beautiful new home, with no need for hiding or running or keeping secrets, she wouldn’t have believed it. She might even have punched anyone in the face who'd tried to make such a claim, simply for being so cruel. It just seemed so damned unlikely. She whispered a soft thank you to the Maker. Maybe it was possible that he wasn’t as hateful toward his creations as she’d grown to believe over the years.

 

When Cullen was done eating, he wiped his face and immediately set about cleaning up the table, throwing back the rest of his wine, carrying the plates and pan to the wash basin for a wash. Avery jumped up and joined him, grabbing a towel to dry the dishes before returning them to the place she remembered him pulling them. When they were put away, she stood nearby and waited. Waited for the moment he was done, the moment he turned around to face her with that constant burn of love in his eyes, those luscious lips, the sex scruffed hair and the late night shadow of his stubbled jaw. When finally he looked around and seemed satisfied that everything was in order, she grabbed him, capturing his lips with her own and snaking her limbs around him, trapping him in a tight embrace. He grunted in surprise but quickly his arm came around her, following as she took a step back, feeling the table behind her, and in a quick hitch she had raised herself onto it, pulling him between her legs.

The desperation to have him again raged through her like a sickness, a malady that had only one cure, and she wasn’t sure she could wait to return to the room to have it. She ran her hands over the bulges of his chest, the long length of his neck, threading through his hair, tracing the perfect angle of his jaw. His hands raked up her thighs, sliding the skirt of her robe up in the process, and soon hands were making their way up the bare skin of her legs on a slow, torturous trajectory toward her hips. He groaned in approval when he reached his destination, apparently unaware that she’d decided not to bother with smalls. His hands found her buttocks and squeezed, practically lifting her off the table at his hips joined with hers, his cock straining once again against the front of his breeches.

“Mmmmmm,” he groaned. “Dessert.”

She laughed against his lips as she dragged her hands away from his face to undo the front of his breeches and seek the thick, throbbing manhood beneath.

“Right here?” he asked between kisses. She could only nod, unwilling to separate her mouth from his. Her body, so recently sated by the beautiful mouth and hands that were now everywhere on her, had reawakened again with a vengeance. Something deep inside her demanded to be joined with him again, to know him as deeply as anyone could be known, to merge and meld and share everything that it was possible to share.

In a flurry of hands, his breeches were around his thighs, his cock homing its way into her while he pulled at him, every second not joined with him seeming downright painful. They slowed as he drove all the way in, breathing through the intensity, letting her inner walls take a moment to stretch and adjust, even as he hit that aching center of nerves deep within that made her instinctively clench and roll her hips. He started slowly, matching the pace of his kiss with the measured thrusting of his hips. He anchored himself between her thighs by keeping one hand gripped hard to her bottom, and one hand traveling up her back to cup her head, to roam over her shoulders and slide strong fingers down the flesh of her neck. He smoothed back her hair and tenderly combed through it, keeping an unhurried pace as she opened up as far as she could to him, flaying open her mouth, her legs and welcoming him in as deeply as he dared to to go.

She quickly felt the building of ecstatic sensation within her, but she kept her movements slow, caring only about experiencing him, about expressing the depths of her love with every kiss, every caress, every touch. She worked his tunic over his head and sighed as he surrounded her, the bare skin of his chest enveloping her like a blanket, hands roving, hips rolling slow and steady as their bodies joined. Her kisses along his skin were worshipful, lingering reverently over every nook and line and angle they touched, tasting him, adoring him.

 _This is love,_ she thought blissfully as he filled her, again and again. She sighed and laid back, melting into him completely as he climbed over her and settled his weight gingerly upon her. She clutched him hard while groaning, whimpering, rocking with him, opening completely for him. She held on tight and let herself completely disappear, lost to an endless abyss of joyful euphoria. 

 


	13. Chapter 13

 

It seemed that Avery had only just closed her eyes when moments later the sun was coming up. Despite the fact that their sleep could only have lasted a few hours, four at the very most, Cullen immediately began to stir just as the light entered the room. He'd always done the same back in Kirkwall, his body apparently fully synced to the rising of the sun regardless of the depth of his exhaustion. Waking for the same duties day after day for decades would do that to a person, she supposed. She watched him as he slowly woke, smiling to herself while admiring all the tiny personal details of his slumbering form, relishing every last remaining second they had in their sleepy little nest.

His stubble was already longer and darker than the night before, and his long, wispy lashes laid thick and curled against his cheek. She loved the little stray hairs at the fringes of his brows, and the permanent little hairline wrinkle between them, where he would normally get that deep crease whenever he frowned. There were light spatters of freckles on his cheeks and nose, and shallow indentations in his skin left by the rumpled case of his pillow. His golden hair was slightly longer than it appeared when laid back in its usual daytime style, and now it stuck out around his head in a messy halo of wild, tousled curls. She eyed the gently jagged trail carved out of that painfully perfect top lip, and realized she'd yet to even ask him how he'd come about the new scar.

The most heavenly part of it all was the fragrant heat radiating from his body, an aura of warmth that swallowed her into a cloud of deliciously woodsy musk. Maker, how was it possible that a man could naturally smell so  _good?_  Good didn't even do it justice. His scent made her feel hungry somehow, starved for things of his she already had, but also for things she couldn't even begin to define. It touched a primal place that existed at the very deepest root of her, the place that never felt fully satisfied no matter how close she got to him.

She nuzzled deeply into his chest, basking in each delicious breath of him, already beginning to dread the moment he rose from the bed to begin his daily duties. She tilted her head back to watch as consciousness slowly crept across his face. His hands and head twitched subtly, his lips closed while his adam's apple bobbed and his breathing changed, drawing long, sleepy inhalations that raised her head up along with his chest. When those heavily lashed eyes finally opened, he turned to look at her immediately, his amber irises growing more vibrant as his pupils contracted into pinpricks, locking onto her with a sleepy smile. He sighed and slid his hands down her back, turning to press the hot length of his naked body against hers, his morning erection laying thick and heavy against her belly.

"Mmmm I don't want to get up," he groaned as he slid a knee between her legs and clamped his body against hers, one hand finding and cupping a breast. She beamed with happiness as it dawned on her that this wasn't just his bed any longer; this was  _their_  bed,  _their_  room. For as long as she was in Skyhold, this was how her days would begin.

"So don't," she said as she climbed up his body, repositioning his cock so that it was between her thighs, pressing upward against the warming center of her.

"Mmmmmm…" he groaned again, his hips automatically beginning to roll forward. "I wish that was an option. I would stay right here all blighted day if I could. But the messengers will be knocking down my door very soon."

"Is there time to…?" she asked as she squeezed his cock between her thighs, pressing her hips into him. His breath hitched in his throat at the move, and she dug her nose into the fragrant curls in the center of his chest, taking yet another intoxicating inhalation.

"Maker, but you are insatiable," he crooned.

He raised a hand and pulled gently down a tendril of her hair to the very ends, and then caressing down her cheek to brush softly along her lower lip. She kissed the pad of his thumb, and then took the whole thing into her mouth, sucking gently as she pressed her tongue against the rough, calloused skin of his finger. His hips rolled upward in response, pressing his erection hard against her moistening entrance.

"There probably isn't time," he gasped, "not that you're really leaving me much choice."

She held his thumb deep in her mouth as she rose up over his cock, sliding it back and forth along her slit to ready him with her juices, when from far down below came the muffled banging of an insistent knock.

He groaned as his coiled body fell back against his pillow.

"Damn it," he breathed, letting out a pained laugh. "See?"

He froze as he waited for a moment, listening for a follow up. When the banging came again he gave her an apologetic look as he shifted his weight, scooting upward and easily pushing her up with him, his posture stiff with dutiful resignation.

"They should be letting their Commander get his sleep," she said, disappointed.

"Sleep? Is that what we're calling it now?" he snorted with an affectionate smile. "They've been instructed to knock until I wake if it's important, so it bloody well better be."

She sighed and rolled off him, collapsing back into the warm spot in the sheets that clung to the remnants of his body heat. He slid his legs over the edge of the bed, arching his muscular back in a quick stretch before rising completely. His cock stood firmly out from his body as he surveyed the room to locate his clothing, and she salivated at the sight of him: solid, thick and deliciously ridged. In a swift move she'd rolled off the bed herself and plunged his gorgeous appendage deep into her mouth. He whimpered as he grabbed her hair in surprise, winding his fingers tightly around her messy locks. She took two long, suckling strokes, swirling her tongue around the sharp rim of his cockhead and then pulled away, flashing him a satisfied grin as she fell back onto the bed once again.

"Sorry, just needed a quick taste before you rush away and leave me here in agony," she teased.

His eyes were black as he shook his head at her, his parted lips curled and panting, "Maker's breath woman. That's not very nice."

"My apologies Commander," she sighed. "I'll have to make it up to you later."

He stalked around the room as he picked up pieces of his clothing, sliding on a pair of grey smalls that tented tantalizingly with the stiff flesh beneath. She enjoyed watching him adjust and readjust against the constraining fabric while he made note of the location of all the various items, left in scattered disarray from the night before. As soon as his leather breeches were on, his manhood fully secured within, he was slipping his feet into his boots at the same time that he pulled a tunic over his head. He clearly had a method for dressing quickly, and Avery sighed contentedly as she watched him whirl about the room, efficiently layering piece after piece while the banging on the door below continued.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm coming," he grumbled as he slid on his pauldron. Suddenly he was at her side, descending quickly for a deep kiss while flinging the blankets away, uncovering her naked body in a single move. His mouth moved from hers and rapidly landed unexpectedly between her legs, his tongue burying itself between the lips of her slit with a deep, rumbling groan. She let out a ecstatic wail and arched against his face, but as quickly as his tongue had delivered several electrifying lashes against her bud, his mouth was gone. He was standing upright again and making his way toward the ladder with glistening lips and a smirk.

"Sorry, just needed a quick taste," he teased, and then disappeared.

She laid in bed with desire radiating out from between her legs while she caught her breath and thought about the day ahead. They were to leave for the Winter Palace in two days and she had a few of her own things she'd like to do before they departed. Deep below her she heard the low murmurs of male voices as Cullen and someone moved about the room, discussing whatever matters of business and war that were so damned important.

But those matters  _were_  important, she reminded herself. As much as she wanted Cullen all to herself, there were grave threats afoot. There was a war raging and a once-dead demon thing trying his best to ruin and scorch the land. She sighed at the thought. Her body was left wanting, but in reality she was proud that Cullen was able to put his skills and expertise into important, meaningful work. Work that let his strength and goodness benefit people all over Thedas, and that thankfully no longer required toiling under the stifling chains of the Order. She knew the satisfaction that could be found in devoting your efforts toward a worthy cause, and Cullen deserved that.

But inside somewhere there was also that niggling creep of fear for the challenges the Inquisition faced. It was easy to keep that fear buried deep beneath the euphoria of recent events, of reuniting with her love, of finding a new home and a new life, but it remained there nonetheless, smoldering on quietly as she resisted acknowledging all the darkest consequences in the possibility of the Inquisition's failure. She knew Cullen had to feel that too. With the demands of the Inquisition and the strain of his ongoing lyrium withdrawal, she would have to be careful not to let her greedy need for him pull him in too many directions at once. Avery's truest desire had always been to help him, to see him become the man he wanted himself to be, and not hinder him due to her own selfishness. But he'd also said before that her love helped him, made him him feel stronger. She hoped that was still true, but there was a delicate balance to be struck there somewhere, and she would have to find it.

She sat up and eyed the room for her own clothing, figuring she should probably tidy up before she departed for the day. In her trunk lay the portfolio of letters, and she'd barely made it a third of the way through the stack based upon her last assessment. There was still so much she wanted to know, and she intended to try to get some reading done while Cullen worked. She gave herself a quick wash in the basin, combing out the huge knots in her hair and smoothing it into place with wet fingers, and then dressed in a fresh mage's robe, the only other one she had. This one was an olive green, but she liked the way the skirt felt light, swishing around her legs in a manner more like a gown than a robe. Her leathers were still being laundered somewhere in the depths of Skyhold, and she supposed she'd need to stop by and see if they were ready to go yet.

She laced up her boots and lowered herself down the ladder, holding Cullen's admiring gaze as soon as he was within view. A messenger was leaning over the desk beside Cullen, his finger marking the place of some spot on a scroll before them and Avery stifled a laugh as the man stared at her in surprise, his mouth dropping open. She recognized this one as the same man who'd come to the door to tell her about Crestwood, but despite Cullen being in her quarters then, Avery's presence here still seemed quite the surprise. Cullen gave her a warm smile as she dropped off the last few rungs, and she returned it, loosing a little snort at the enduring expression of shock on the face of the messenger.

"It's not polite to stare, Jim," Cullen said with a nudge to the man.

"Sorry Ser, I didn't know there was anyone else up there," the man apologized.

"I'm sure you remember Serah Hawke. You'll likely be seeing her in here on a regular basis. Please make sure she always has anything she needs," he said.

"Of course, Ser," Jim nodded.

"Actually, Serah Hawke, a letter came for you. It's been slipped under the door of your, uh, other quarters."

"Oh. Thank you," Avery said as she made her way to the door. "You can bring all my correspondence here from now on."

Jim looked to Cullen, who confirmed with a nod.

Avery flashed Cullen another giddy smile and exited the office, descending the battlement stairs with her eye on the merchants below. She approached the table manned by the masked Orlesian woman and looked over the dress selections, not seeing anything with the right cut, or the right shade of red.

"Excuse me please," Avery called to the woman hovering over a roster with a quill in hand.

"Yes my dear?"

"I need to commission a dress," she said.

"You don't see anything you like here?"

"I don't, but I have something very specific in mind," Avery told her. "And I need it soon. Like, the day after tomorrow."

The woman bowed, "Oh my darling, it would be difficult to get anything done that quickly."

"How much would it take?" Avery asked, patting at her coinpurse to be sure she'd filled it before leaving her room. It jingled under her touch, heavy and full. "Would ten sovereigns, plus cost of materials cover it?"

"Well, perhaps, but I am already in the middle of-"

"Twenty?"

"Maker… I… yes, I suppose I could set that other one aside for a day or two…" the woman said. Avery nodded and dug the coin from her purse, handing it straight over.  _Thank the Maker for the Deep Roads._

"Well, come on back and let me take your measurements, and describe for me what you need," the woman said with a wave of her hand.

 

 

_Xxxxxxx_

 

 

_Avery,_

_Many of the biggest messes leftover by the Chantry have been handled and Kirkwall is improving more every day. Or at least the buildings are; the people are still scarred, of course. Despite this, a number of Templars who lasted the last year here have put in for transfers, and I am not looking forward to dealing with whatever new faces come in to replace those leaving. I was only just getting used to the old 'new faces'. I could certainly use a change myself, especially now that the effects of less lyrium are creeping in. Mostly headaches and tiredness for now, but I know worse is coming. I pray that I am strong enough to deal with it without it interfering too much with my duties._

_A Templar couple came to me today to put in a formal request to get married. I was happy to pass it along to the Chantry, along with my recommendation that it be approved. And of course it made me think about you and me, as so much always does. I thought about what I would do if you were to walk back into Kirkwall tomorrow, or even straight into my office as I sit here. I imagine that the moment I saw you I would drop whatever I was doing, drop this quill that is in my hand this very moment, and sweep you into a kiss. You would remember that you love me, and we would finally leave Kirkwall together just like we'd planned. It might be a little late, but is it ever really too late for a new beginning? It doesn't feel too late to me right now._

_But then I realize that if you come back to Kirkwall it's surely because you actually have something you need or want to do here, so perhaps you wouldn't just be able to leave again so easily. And maybe things would be too different for you to just take me back like that. It is really just a fantasy anyway. I spend far more time in fantasy lately than I ever have before, and probably much more than is healthy. I should be finally trying to get my head on straight, to stop clinging to every remnant of you that I have here. Loving you has been a habit for many years now, and one that has been impossible to break thus far. I should be trying harder though. Or, you could just save me the trouble and come home._

_Cullen_

 

 

 

 

_My darling Avery,_

_Maker, these headaches. Every morning I feel as though I'm hungover and it only gets worse as the day progresses. If I had known when I was a child what this would be like, the pain, the weird spells of confusion and all the blighted nightmares, I am not sure I ever would have been so eager to join the Order. And that's not even to speak of all the frustrating bureaucracy that I've recently encountered. If I'd known better perhaps I would have joined the Chantry in some other capacity, one which didn't necessitate the use of lyrium in its duties. Or perhaps I would have just stayed home with my parents and entered some other occupation when I came of age. That of course means I might have died with them in the blight, but who knows really. Since my siblings survived, I suppose I probably would have as well._

_I wouldn't have met you though, and while that is a thought that used to terrify me, at this point I've finally begun to wonder if it wouldn't have been for the better. It's been a little over a year for Maker's sake and I still can't shake you from my thoughts. Surely you've moved on. Surely most people don't continue to pine for a lost love for years after the fact, do they?_

_It's all worse now that I am really feeling the withdrawal. It's like I'm cast back in time sometimes, and one thing I certainly didn't expect was how much you would make an appearance in all the flashbacks and disorientation, even in this second time around. A few times I've experienced little slips, sort of like dreams when I'm awake but at least I wasn't completely out of it like that one time. It helps to eat regularly and get fresh air and I'm sure it would be better if I could just fucking sleep. I'm always thirsty and I see you everywhere like Uldred and Meredith and death and demons whispering all their lies. But they weren't lies. I woke up yesterday and asked Rylen where she was because she wasn't in her office and it was just as bad as that one time. That girl in the square. I feel like I'm falling asleep as I write this. The sun is still up and there's still work to be done. And now I think I know where I put the ring I was wondering I was sure I was wearing it I thought I was wearing it_

_But I found it in the drawer_

_Maker help me. I can't think. I'll try this again tomorrow._

 

 

_Xxxxxxxxxxxxxx_

 

 

"I beg your pardon, Hawke," came a familiar voice. Avery tried to shake off the chill of the letter as she lowered it, stretching out the kink in her neck as she moved to replace the letter in the portfolio. She was surprised to find her free hand clutching a fist full of yanked out grass. Before her stood Solas, waiting patiently just a few feet away.

"I thought perhaps you might like to meet Cole?" he asked.

"Yes!" She folded the portfolio closed and stood, brushing off the bits of leaves and grass that had collected in her lap and on the skirt of her robe as she sat under the tree. "Yes, definitely. Now is good, if you want to go…."

"There's no need to go anywhere. Cole, you remember Hawke?" Solas said. "Hawke, this is Cole."

Avery looked around in confusion, not seeing anyone else nearby that he could possibly have been talking to. At the tents people in bandages were slowly limping about and sitting by a firepit, but they were too far away. On the other side of Solas was the towering outer wall of Skyhold, with the battlement paths way overhead.

"Yes, I remember," came a quiet voice.

The hair rose up on Avery's arms as she turned around in a full circle, confused. But in a blink a figure appeared before the wall to her left: a skinny kid in a large hat, just as Cullen had described. She almost laughed at the hat. It certainly was unnecessarily large, spanning the width of his shoulders several times over. She almost felt his presence more than she saw him, as the veil pulled lightly around her, crawling like cobwebs over her skin.

"You were drowning. But not the way that you meant to."

"Oh… I…" she said. "Yes, I guess so. I was, in a way. Not anymore." Solas raised an eyebrow at her, but betrayed no judgment.

"No. You aren't as heavy now," he said. "The Commander makes you brighter, lighter, softer."

"Yes. The Commander…" she agreed slowly, "he does that. But… I'm told you had a hand in that as well."

"Yes," he said simply. She couldn't see his eyes for his smattering of long white bangs. What had Solas said about Cole? That he wasn't a person, he was a spirit? A pure from-the-Fade spirit who, for whatever reason, took the form of a boy?

She remembered the way the whole room used to fill with an eerie buzz whenever Justice emerged from Anders, but she felt no such thing standing before Cole. Though it did seem that he would fade from her vision anytime her attention slipped, making her have to blink hard and refocus her eyes repeatedly in order to see him again. She stood for a long moment, testing the strange phenomena by allowing herself to look away and then try to find him again. It was like nothing she'd ever experienced before, and absolutely fascinating.

"I used to know a spirit, but he felt much different than you do," she said. "Though he was in a body, and they were both… very angry most of the time."

"I am not angry," Cole said pleasantly as his giant hat tilted with his head. "What do I feel like?"

"You feel like… whispers. Cobwebs. I don't know, just… gentle."

"Thank you, Hawke. I like those things," he said. Avery smiled. A spirit of compassion, in the form of a sickly looking boy. What a strange collection of characters this mountain fortress housed.

"You like cobwebs?" she laughed quietly.

"I do. They make corners and edges look soft."

"Yes, I suppose so," she agreed. Solas gave her a quiet bow and backed away, leaving the two of them alone.

"Cullen doesn't like my letters," Cole said as he looked at the portfolio in her hand. She squeezed it reverently, running her thumb over the leather flap that held the pouch closed. It was easily the most prized possession she'd ever owned, and she was always careful to keep a tight grip on it when anywhere outside her room. She'd had fearful visions of a gust of wind stealing all the letters and flinging them about the courtyard, making it impossible for them to ever be put back into order.

"You send him letters?"

"Little ones. I try to help, but he doesn't like it. He thinks I'm a demon, just like all the ones who tried to hurt him. But I don't hurt."

"I know. I can tell," she said. "Is that why… you never did for him what you did for me?"

"Cullen  _wants_  the pain, and the memories, even though he thinks he doesn't," Cole said softly, "When he remembers it he feels a purpose, he feels stronger."

Avery frowned as she thought about it. "I see. That makes sense," she sighed and dropped down onto the ground. It seemed a rare treat to get to speak with someone who had such unnatural insight into other peoples' minds and hearts. She hoped Cole didn't mind her prying questions, though he seemed to be offering up just as much information voluntarily. "Will you stay and talk with me for a while Cole?"

"You want me to stay?" he asked, surprised. Avery nodded and patted the grass beside her. Cole was beside her without a sound, almost faster than her eyes could register his movement. "Not everyone here likes me. It is nice to make a new friend."

"It is nice," she agreed, smiling as she fingered cool blades of grass.

"You love him," Cole commented. Avery nodded. Surely most people could see that, or they could if they paid attention. She knew the way she looked at him. She caught herself doing it many times, admiring him reverently and forgetting about everyone else around them. It wasn't intentional; it was just how she felt.

A breeze blew through the courtyard, whipping tendrils of hair into her face and she clutched the pack of letters even tighter, still feeling the chill his last letter had given her. Part of her was glad she'd never had to see him get so… disoriented. She wondered if she ever might.

"He is quiet, behind the noise. The little bottle makes him shake, but he tests the chains. You want to help him break them."

She nodded quietly. That must be what Cullen meant about him speaking in riddles.

"You want to help, but helping might be too big for you," Cole continued.

"Yes," Avery said. "I do worry about that."

She sat quietly in thought as a series of large white clouds floated lazily across the sky, the breeze whispering through the tree leaves above her like music. It was a beautiful day in Skyhold, and from her vantage point she could clearly see Cullen's tower, as well as the constant streams of bodies that soldiered in and out regularly. No wonder he often missed lunch and dinner. His letter said it was better when he ate, when he could get fresh air, and not spend so much time in small spaces, yet it seemed the demands of the Inquisition required he forgo all those things, at least on most days. She could certainly see why Mahanon might be concerned that the middle of such an important war might not be the best time to try to kick an addiction like lyrium. It was well known that lyrium withdrawals at their worst could kill a man, or drive them mad. Cullen had lasted however many months it had been now, which was promising enough, but the pressures and requirements of war wouldn't allow him to take care of himself in the ways he probably should.

But when was he not in a position of importance? That was just the reality of his life. If he waited for a better moment, he might end up waiting forever. And as much as she might have grown to understand Mahanon's side of it, making Cullen start all over was still not an option. This was his new beginning, and the struggle must continue, for better or worse.

"Will you help me? If he won't listen to you, maybe you could tell me what to do? If you know things that… might help him. Things I could do…"

"I… it won't be the same. But we could try."

"Thanks, Cole."

"You're welcome, Hawke."

Avery smiled at Cole as she shook her head at the reality of it. The spirit of Compassion, living in the real world. It was still much stranger than anything she could wrap her mind around. If only Justice had found such a way, and never needed to join with Anders to remain outside the Fade. How different would the world be if that had been a possibility for them?

Maybe different in ways she didn't like. The mages would all still be in the Circle, and Maker knows what would exist of the Inquisition. Surely the breach would still have been there, Corypheus would somehow still be living again. But she wouldn't be there in Skyhold, she wouldn't be with Cullen.

She focused again on Cole, delighting in the strangeness of having him not be visible in her peripherals, and then suddenly appearing, sharpening into a solid, living being as soon as she looked for him. She could understand a little bit how she might not have any memory of him talking to her. If she hadn't known what to expect, if he hadn't wanted to be seen, despite his striking appearance and the memorable hat, he could just fade into the sidelines. He smiled shyly back at her, taking on even the subtle expressions and quirks of a human boy, even though everything about him seemed ethereal and wan; pale eyes, pale skin, pale hair. It seemed the longer they sat together, the more solid he felt to her. It was encouraging to have yet another… person? Helper? in her and Cullen's corner. Between Cole and Cassandra, hopefully something one of them did could make a difference.


	14. Chapter 14

The next morning Avery was smiling before she'd even opened her eyes. The room was still dark, but a bird chirped loudly near the open section of ceiling, heralding the imminent arrival of the sun. She sighed happily at the second morning in a row of waking warm and tucked tightly into Cullen's arms, and the first morning after they'd been able to restrain themselves enough that she could help give him a full night's sleep. He'd worked late the night before, busy into the dark hours tying up numerous projects in preparation for everyone's departure to Halamshiral, but she'd been able to convince him to take a little break to eat with her. She carried up some meat pies from the kitchen and they had a little picnic on the floor of his office, interlacing fingers and passing a bottle of wine back and forth until it was empty. Afterward she waited for him in bed while he toiled late into the night, preparing orders and forwarding addresses to be sent off to various camps and regiments. They made love after he finally climbed up into the loft, quickly and efficiently, and he was asleep before he'd even rolled off of her. She laughed as he breathed the low, heavy breaths of sleep in her ear and she managed to slip out from under him without disturbing him, quickly falling to sleep herself, waking only twice to stem the progression of a few nightmares before they wrenched him completely from his slumber.

The sun had only just begun its ascent when he startled awake, his hands reaching for her immediately even though she was already flush against him.

"Good morning my love," she cooed as she kissed over his face, peppering his chin, his nose and his eyelids in gentle little pecks. He smiled and squeezed her, groaning contentedly while nuzzling into her hair.

"It's always a good morning with you here," he sighed.

"Hopefully this morning you won't have to rush away," she said. She dug her face into his neck, running her lips along the delicately stubbled flesh of his throat as she kissed a trail up to his jaw.

"Not just yet, but I should be up soon," he grumbled. "Maker, I'm going to miss you so much in Halamshiral. I wish I didn't have to go."

She laughed confusedly, wondering for a moment if he might be joking. "Why would you miss me in Halamshiral?"

"Um," he began with a snort, "because you won't be there."

She paused for a moment, wondering if maybe he was just still foggy from sleep. Early mornings could do that.

"Yes I will, silly," she laughed. "Or have I been uninvited?"

Cullen was oddly still for a moment, his lashes twitching as his eyes cast around in thought. She was jarred loose from his arms as he scooted up the bed and turned to face her in the shadow of the dim morning light.

"Forgive me love, but I was not aware that you  _were_  invited," he said. She laughed again. How had they gotten along this far without that coming up? She supposed she had just assumed that Cullen knew, and the possibility that he wouldn't want her to come hadn't even occurred to her. There was the meeting in the War room where it must have been discussed by some of the others, but she had no memory of the details, aside from the blasphemous mentioning of placing of a bag upon a certain beautiful head.

"Anon told me in Crestwood that I could come along if I wanted to." she said, her smile slowly falling. "Is that a problem?"

"Well…" he said softly and then thought for a long minute while Avery waited.

"I mean… I was going to ask Mahanon myself about you coming, but then I started thinking about it, and…"

She blinked through the darkness, continuing to wait, feeling disappointment creeping up on her as the seconds of silence ticked by. She could tell by his tone that he didn't think she should go, but she continued to wait for his explanation. He must have had some good reason; it seemed so incongruous to everything else he'd said for him not to want her there.

"Well, love, I mean, I'm sure you've guessed that I would rather not go at all. Parties like this… with  _these_  people… I can't," he sighed. "I can't stomach all the gossip and the backstabbing. This blighted "game" business is just… well, I have no patience for it." he said, pausing again.

"Yes, and?" she asked gently, urging him to continue.

"Well they are going to know who we are. The former Knight-Commander and the apostate Champion, which, even this long after the fact would probably still be considered quite the scandal, at least to that particularly flock of vultures. I've really no desire to deal with the attention that would draw to us. In fact it sort of gives me the shakes just thinking about it… I am already dreading this without adding that on top of everything. Plus it would just be a distraction from all the other, more important things we'd be there to deal with."

"I see," she said. He did have a point. Ever the dutiful soldier, of course he would be worried about distractions. And the thought of being cornered by curious meddlers, and whispered about by all the little cliques of strangers did sound both juvenile and irritating, to put it mildly. Cullen being upset by it all made the prospect even less appealing. She had been looking forward to the ball, excited at the opportunity to wow Cullen with the red dress that was so like that robe he'd written about, and honestly when she pictured the night in question, she envisioned her and Cullen sneaking away to be alone more than anything else. But as fun as sex in a Palace closet or dark corner might be, she supposed he probably wouldn't be free to do that anyway. He'd want to hold his post, keep his ear open and be ready in case anything important were to happen.

"Okay then," she said with a sigh, trying to squash down the little spark of sadness ignited by the prospect of being left behind.

"Well if you really detest these parties so much why do you have to go?"

"Mahanon has insisted upon my presence," he said. "As much as I don't like it, he  _is_  our leader, and I will do as I am commanded…"

A warm hand found and cupped her cheek. "You're disappointed, aren't you?"

"A little…" she admitted, "but it's fine. I'll be fine." She was supposed to pick up the dress later that afternoon. She'd just have to find another opportunity to wear it. Maybe just for Cullen personally one of these nights. He had said it wouldn't survive the encounter anyway. Maybe it was for the best that she not tempt him like that while also having to navigate the viper's pit of the Winter Palace.

"I'm sorry," he said softly. "Unless… you wanted to just pretend.."

"That we're not together? Keep us a secret again?" she snorted, trying to keep the derision from her voice, "no thank you. I've had enough of hiding."

She tried to keep the thought out of her head that he didn't want to be seen with her, as she knew it wasn't even remotely true. Maker, the man would not have happily paraded her around Skyhold already if it were. But the little insecure voice continued to whisper the suggestion despite all her stern inner reprimands. She forced the voice to be silent. What a ridiculous thought.

"Besides, seeing you look all handsome in your suit while not being able to throw myself at you in the manner to which I have become accustomed would be its own special kind of torture," she added resignedly.

He laughed, "You're telling me. I'm sure you'd be the most beautiful woman there, and I'd have to watch all the other men vie for your attention from a distance. I'd really rather not have to endure that."

She fell back against the bed, her heart a little heavy, her mind now reeling with a wide open, Cullen-less schedule for the next week at the very least. Hopefully Varric would still be around. And Cassandra. Maker, she still hadn't made it to her old quarters to get whatever letter the messenger had delivered there. Most likely it was Fenris' reply to the message she'd sent him upon her arrival.

Yes, she sighed, she could take the next week to read further into Cullen's letters, and write a few more of her own. She'd need to craft a new staff to take into the Western Approach. It'd probably be good to get some fighting practice in, too, especially after the stories she'd heard about some of the creatures there.

"I'm afraid I would make quite the disappointing date as well," Cullen continued as he settled back down beside her, pulling her into his chest. "Templars don't attend balls, so I've no clue how to dance. Plus I'm sure I'll be grumpy from watching all the… petty Orlesian nonsense. I really don't want you to see me like that anyway. You might begin to think I actually  _am_  a stick-in-the-mud."

"It's fine Cullen, really," she said, trying to sound reassuring. "Just… write me? If you have the time?"

She rest her cheek against his chest, looking away in order to hide the stubborn frown that refused to leave her face.

"Of course my darling. And I'll try to make it up to you when I get home, I promise."

 

 

As soon as Cullen was halfway down the ladder, the day's first parade of messengers began, filling his office with bodies and reports and all manner of noise. It was amusing for a while to listen to Cullen get all authoritative, his impatience clearly showing through as he grumbled about certain messages from subordinates, such as a soldier lamenting being camped in a location "near too many noisy birds." She laughed quietly as she listened in, hearing the note of incredulousness in his voice as he dictated off flippant replies to a scribe. She imagined he'd take the same tone with many of the partiers at Halamshiral, and was disappointed all over again that she wouldn't be able to witness it. He certainly was impressive when he got a little riled up.

When she'd had her fill of eavesdropping, Avery dressed quickly in a pair of light leathers, ones that left her legs and arms bare, in the hopes that she could soak up a little bit of the Skyhold sun. But an idea occurred to her before she descended the stairs, and she located a piece of parchment in her trunk, scrawling a quick letter to Cullen. As she wrote, the plan developed and she quickly removed her smalls, wadding them up into a tiny ball that she kept hidden in the palm of her hand.

Luckily, despite the full office below, no one stood directly below the ladder. But she still felt a twinge of self-consciousness knowing that a quick step in the wrong direction from any of the other bodies in the room could mean a stranger getting an unintended eyeful of everything under her leathers.

A hush came over the room as she made her way down the ladder, and Cullen's gold eyes found her between the clutter of shiny bodies. He raised an eyebrow in a satisfied smirk, ignoring the approving glances cast between the surprised collection of men.

Avery nodded a polite greeting to every pair of eyes she passed, of which there had to be more than a dozen, and walked nonchalantly over to Cullen.

"This came for you yesterday, I forgot to give it to you," she said with a wink as she placed the folded up piece of paper before him on the desk. As she turned her body away she attempted a bit of sleight of hand, a move she hadn't used since her days of regular Wicked Grace in the Hanged Man. But she was confident as she walked away that none of the men in the room had seen her drop her smalls just behind the cover of his desk and straight into the Commander's lap.

She cast a parting glance back at Cullen before she slipped through the door, his amber gaze burning hot and bringing a flush to her cheeks. The rest of the men remained reverently quiet until she was gone. She smiled to herself as she descended the steps from the battlements. Her letter had dared him to come find her when he had a free moment, wandering around Skyhold as she was in a short skirt and no smallclothes. She was sure she'd be seeing him at some point. With the prospect of multiple days away from him looming so unexpectedly close, she wanted to leave a lasting impression to take with him to Halamshiral.

There was little peace to be found outside of his tower, as Skyhold bustled with messengers and runners, sprinting back and forth from all the different doors, carrying orders and making last minute arrangements on behalf of the advisors. Only a handful of the Inquisition's inner circle would be staying behind, and most of those going seemed just as excited for the party portion of it as they were nervous about the impending situation with the Empress. She considered settling back into her spot under the tree to continue reading Cullen's letters, and then remembered she needed to visit the old tower and retrieve her messages there. But if she was going there she might as well take the dress with her. She didn't want to try to sneak it past Cullen while he sat in his office. It'd ruin his reaction if he were to see it in her arms before he saw it on her body.

She made her way straight over to Bonny Simm's table and Bonny nodded at her in recognition before scurrying off to a little chest set to the rear of her station. She returned with a proud smile and the dark red garment draped delicately over outstretched arms,

"It turned out absolutely lovely, messere," Bonny said. "Please try it on the moment you get to your quarters so you can return it right away if it needs any adjustments. I've got a number of other items to alter before you all depart in the morning, so my schedule is rapidly filling up."

Avery nodded and thanked her, not bothering to tell her there was no longer any rush, and slipped her another sovereign for her trouble before walking away. The dress was impossibly light and silky in her hands, the fabric clearly of a top tier quality, with construction that could only have been completed by a master seamstress. Avery sighed in disappointment again as she made her way over to her former quarters, trying to keep the dress balled up as small as possible so as not to call attention to it. The vibrant, rich red color stood out like a sore thumb in the dusty, green expanse of the Skyhold courtyard, and the more she looked at it and felt the lush fabric on her skin, the more her disappointment grew that she wouldn't get the chance to wear it anytime soon.

With great relief, she let herself into her former quarters, shutting the door and tossing the dress on the bed before sitting to relish the quiet of the room. It seemed the only place she'd been since rising from bed that was calm and quiet. At least with so many gone to Halamshiral, Skyhold would be peaceful for the next week. It would be a good time indeed for some reading, maybe she'd spend some time in the library and read what more she could about lyrium.

On the floor before the door, just where she'd expected to see them, lay two folded up pieces of paper, one more than she was expecting.

The letters were from Fenris, as she anticipated, and she carried them over to the table as she broke their seals, opening them both simultaneously in order to discern which came first.

 

 

 

_Hawke,_

_Thank you for writing so quickly. I'm glad you made it without problem, and hope the people there are taking care of you. People everywhere are beginning to speak about this Inquisition and not everyone is happy about it, though I've yet to fully understand why. One of those green things opened up close by, and we keep killing the demons that come out of it, but that doesn't seem to stop more from continuing to come. Many in town are pulling up and leaving. I am not sure what hope there is for this land to be honest. Word is that these are opening everywhere, but yet there is only this Inquisitor person who can close them? I don't see any way he could get to all of them, at least not in time to prevent everyone from having to flee. Things are very desperate for many people here, and I am sure it is the same in more and more places if the news about these green things is correct._

_Other than that, I am well. I should probably tell you that I have met someone. His name is Matthias and he is a good man. He is very skilled with a bow, and has been assisting me in dealing with the abominations coming from this green thing. But since nothing we do seems to help permanently, we are discussing leaving here ourselves. It seems pointless to continue to battle with an unbeatable foe._

_If we do leave, I will inform you of our destination as soon as I can. I look forward to hearing back from you, my dearest friend._

_Fenris._

 

 

 

_Hawke,_

_Matthias and I depart tomorrow for Cumberland, in Nevarra. The people are calling these things rifts, and the town we were in has been mostly abandoned now so there is no longer any point in staying. Matthias has contacts in Cumberland and has given me the name of an Inn called The Salted Nug, which is where we will likely be boarding._

_Do you know how much longer you will be in Skyhold? If you depart before we cross the sea I am sure I can convince him to wait for you. Or I will wait for you myself and we can meet up with him again later. I will write you when I have a better estimation of when we might reach the sea, in case this is a possibility._

_I think you would like Matthias. He reminds me of Sebastian, and not just because he's an archer. I am sure you will approve. He is helping me write these, in fact. He says to write that he is looking forward to meeting you._

_I don't like you being so far away with all these rifts about. Please take care and come back safely,_

_Fenris_

 

 

 

Avery refolded the letters with a wistful sigh, thinking about the rift things he spoke of. They'd been the single reason the journey home from Crestwood had been so long and perilous, and she'd seen a wider variety of demons and wraiths come out of them than had ever popped up in Kirkwall. It made her nervous to know that Fenris was going up against them. He was an indomitable fighter, quick and light on his feet, but possessing of an almost unnaturally powerful strength in relation to his size, but he was correct that fighting the creatures that came out of the rifts would not close the rift itself. At least not without Mahanon. But Fenris had made an interesting point that did not bode well for so much of the land: if Mahanon was the only man capable of permanently closing these things, how could he possibly expect to reach them all?

Of course, if he took care of Corypheus, there was the probability that all the rifts would close on their own, at least from what she had gleaned in her distracted moments of listening to the advisors. She sighed. Thank the Maker this wasn't all on her shoulders. She did not envy poor Mahanon all that pressure.

She also wasn't quite sure how Fenris might take the news that she had no plans to leave Skyhold. Then again, she hadn't actually had a true conversation with Cullen about that either. She'd confirmed her intention to Cassandra, and Cullen had seemed to imply the same in the War room, but she figured it would probably be best to discuss it for certain so she didn't end up blindsided again.

Not being wanted at the ball was different though. Of course it was. Cullen had already asked her to stay with him in a more general sense, as well as given her a key to their quarters. Maybe he hadn't exactly said "please live permanently here at Skyhold," in those exact words, but she could surmise as much, couldn't she? They'd both agreed, no holding back. Isn't that what that had meant?

Avery figured there was no point replying to Fenris' letters now, especially considering he had to already be on the move. She'd wait until his next letter telling her about his arrival at the Waking Sea. And then maybe the Nightingale would lend her a bird, so the message might reach him swiftly.

It warmed her heart to hear that he'd made a friend, or probably more than that. Certainly he had to be more than that if Fenris felt the need to tell her about him, and if they were traveling together. Fenris didn't make those kinds of connections lightly. She felt herself smiling as she thought about Fenris being happy, in love with someone new. It lessened whatever slivers of guilt might have remained about the ending of their relationship, and it comforted her to know that if she didn't return to the road with him, that he wouldn't be alone.

Ugh, the road. Four years on the road was too long. The longest she and Fenris had stayed in one place was a little town in Ferelden, where they'd rented a cottage for four and a half months. But then Varric's book was released, and suddenly everyone was looking at her strangely everywhere she went. Those who'd been adamantly opposed to freedom for mages blamed her, those adamantly for it idolized her. And she'd wanted neither. In the long, rocky aftermath of cutting ties with her love, and the trauma of that bloody morning by the sea, all she'd wanted was to be left alone by everyone. At least, everyone except for Fenris, who didn't make a habit of talking unnecessarily anyway.

After a long afternoon of killing time in her quarters and wandering around the madhouse that had become Skyhold, Avery found herself on the battlements, enjoying the warmth of the sun and the distance from the chaos. She leaned forward against the rail of the battlements, watching the characters below as they continued to scurry about. They were only about three stories down, and thought she couldn't hear them speak, she could easily read facial expressions and observe the items being carried in their hands. She'd begun to enjoy people watching long ago as she realized how much she could learn from observing the dynamics between groups of people, interpreting body language that gave away intentions and power structure. Everyone today seemed to be consumed with their specific purpose, but on a normal day she was sure she could pick out more personal details about the others who shared her new home, even from such a distance.

Cullen must have been very busy indeed if her letter hadn't lured him out for a break earlier, but she knew it was just a matter of time, even if he had to return to his office after. But she didn't have to wait much longer. as she leaned up against the rail that overlooked the courtyard, she heard the soft padding of footsteps behind her, and then a slight whisper of air rustle up her arms as a familiar body brushed against her back.

"There you are," he said, his hands falling heavy around her waist as he whispered over her shoulder.

"Here I am," she confirmed, taking a half step back in order to lean against the wall of his chest. His arms came instinctively around her, sliding up her belly and gripping her tightly against him.

"You know, I don't remember you being this much of a tease in Kirkwall," he observed.

"That's because I wasn't," she said. "I really don't mean to tease you, love. But I can't seem to help myself around you."

He laughed softly in her ear and she shivered as he took an earlobe between her teeth.

"You couldn't help but drop your smalls into my lap in front of a room full of men?"

"Nope," she admitted playfully. The note at least had gotten him outside, keeping him from a second solid day cooped up in his office. If fresh air and time outside of small rooms helped with the headaches and such, then she'd motivate him to get those things in whatever way worked.

Cullen nipped at the top of her shoulder as he reached a hand out to stroke up her bare thigh, slowly making his way under her skirt. He'd already removed his glove, and the higher his hand got, the harder it raked into her flesh, shooting forth bolts of sensation that registered deep between her legs. She shuddered at the force of his velvety touch, glad that her little note had drawn him away from his work, and equally glad that he was accepting its challenge to help himself to her body.

When his hand reached the jut of her hip he took in a sharp breath, his growing arousal evident in the shaky inhalations rushing in her ear. The stone rail of the battlement came only just to hip height, but she was sure that would be enough to keep the explorations of his hands hidden from view of those below them.

"So you've been walking around like this all day?" he asked as his fingers slipped across her belly, slowing making their way down to the pool of warmth between her legs. The longer he drew out the slow movements of his hand, the more her desire for him grew, awakening waves of need that cascaded out from that center of nerves within. She squirmed as she arched her bottom against him, feeling the growing bulk of his manhood laying thick between his legs.

"I have," she confirmed, "while waiting for you to come and find me."

"And just what is it that you're hoping I'll do to you, love?" he asked, his voice low and husky.

"Well I was rather hoping you might give me a good fucking, Commander," she whispered, turning her head to try to catch a glimpse of his face. She could tell by his breathing, by the gentle pulses of his hips against her bottom that he was rapidly growing more and more aroused.

"I see," he answered calmly. "Well, maybe I will… maybe I won't."

She laughed softly, reaching behind her to pull on the soft fabric at his waist, urging him to press harder against her. "Now who's the tease?"

"Yes, well, it's only fair isn't it? Considering I was left to squirm behind my desk for the entire day," he said. "Maybe I'd like to make you squirm a bit, too."

"Well. That _is_ what I was hoping for," she said as she placed her hand over his and guided it toward the aching spot between her legs. She released him as his fingers found their way to the light nest of curls, teasing lightly along the sensitive hairs and skin. She groaned and inhaled sharply, his fingertips brushing tantalizingly up and down her slit, tickling the crease and drawing shivers up her legs, but not quite seeking the entrance that she wanted. She pressed back against him even more and he returned the move, bucking his hips into her buttocks.

"Yes," she purred. "Yes, please keep doing that."

Careful not to register much movement in her shoulders, she reached between them and located the hard bulge that pressed into her bottom. He groaned quietly as he bucked harder into her.

"Naughty girl," Cullen breathed as a fingertip finally slipped deeper into her sex, making gentle contact with the throbbing pearl of nerves. "Everyone can see us. What if someone notices?"

"We'll just have to be very careful then, won't we, Commander?"

His other hand left her waist and dragged up the back of her thigh, squeezing the curve of her buttocks before slipping into the crease between her cheeks. She moaned as she backed into his hand, trying to urge him to enter her, somewhere, anywhere.

"Maker, you have the most exquisite bottom," he breathed as he squeezed and kneaded at her flesh. His finger pressed deeper, sliding off her clitoris and locating the pocket of waiting moisture collecting deeper within. He groaned as his finger slid around inside the slickness, working its way into her, sliding all the way in with a torturously slow motion. She arched her back as a fresh peal of sensation climbed up her belly, tightening her nipples under the constraints of her leather top.

"Thank you, love. Yours is quite nice, too." Her knees went a little weak as his hand on her buttock was replaced by the grinding of his hips again, pressing her forward against the stone railing. His other hand was smashed between the stone and her mound, and she parted her legs to allow him deeper access, hoping desperately that he'd take the invitation. She ached for him, wishing quietly that he would free his cock of his breeches and slip it inside her from behind without anyone being the wiser, but she wondered if it was too soon to expect that level of boldness from him.

Instead she focused on remaining calm, keeping her face unrevealing and serene for the benefit of any potential onlookers. She swallowed, her throat feeling dry while her thighs quivered. Slowly he withdrew his finger and slid back up to her clit, flicking gently against it in the way she'd shown him years ago.

"Maker's breath, you feel so good," he gasped as he worked his finger in a perfectly even rhythm, striking just the right balance of force and gentleness against the delicious stinging of her throbbing bud. "So wet and hot…" he hissed.

She breathed hard, gulping swallows of air as she pressed down her need to moan, to turn around and rip his clothes off. Instead she relaxed her muscles, trying to stay conscious of her appearance. She let her head fall back against his shoulder as he swirled languorous circles around her clit, causing sweet waves of ecstasy to bloom up her body, rendering her muscles warm, shaky and loose.

"Fuck me, Cullen," she whined as she reached back to grasp his bulge again. "Please."

"I want to, love, desperately," he breathed as he leaned his head against the back of her. "But I am not sure I could keep quiet if I did. Every face in Skyhold would be turned this way if I fucked you right now."

A whimper left her throat at the thought of him straining to keep his pleasure silent, his senses overwhelmed by pure wanton ecstasy. She'd yet to experience anything that sparked the same reaction in her as Cullen did when he lost himself in the throes of sex. It was a sight and sound she was sure she'd never get enough of in her life.

She swallowed down the urge to cry out at the building intensity. Her inner walls contracted and spasmed, bucking almost involuntarily against his hand despite her attempts to stay still and inconspicuous. Feeling her body tense, his finger picked up the pace, teasing her closer and closer to the peak of obliteration. She pried her eyes open to survey the courtyard before them. No faces were turned toward them yet, at least that she could see.

"Will you come for me? Right here in front of everyone?"

"Yes, Cullen" she answered, letting out a whine as his mouth found her neck, nipping lightly down toward her shoulder. "I'm about to."

"Good," he whispered and she could hear the smirk in his voice. She pictured his mouth, that deliciously scarred top lip as he whispered to her. It alone was almost enough to push her over the edge. "Come for me baby," he urged.

"Okay…" she panted. "Yes, yes just keep doing what you're doing, please."

He pressed his finger down with slightly more force, massaging deep circles into her swollen, throbbing pearl, and within a heartbeat it happened, a slow building explosion of sensation flooding out from between her legs, swallowing up her body in a raging sea of ecstasy. She choked back a sob and tried to breath through it, letting her eyes roll closed as she fell back against Cullen, her breath hitching, muscles melting into jelly as powerful quakes of orgasm rocked through her at the urging of his skillful fingers. She whimpered quietly, hearing his breathing go jagged in response to her, and she crossed her legs against his hand, squeezing him with her thighs. She gasped, almost sobbing, almost buckling to the ground, but she held herself steady, trying to stay conscious of the possibility of prying eyes. Finally the intensity waned, throbbing away in a slow drag, and she was able to come back into focus, taking heaving breaths to stabilize her body once again. Still the courtyard looked oblivious to the bliss he'd just secretly inflicted upon her.

"Yes," he hissed in approval, his hips pulsing into her buttocks. "Yes, love. Maker's breath that was perfect."

She laughed as he slowly withdrew his hand, nuzzling back against him as he continued to kiss her neck and press his nose into her hair.

"See," she said, "no one's the wiser."

"Yes… That was…" he began, then stuttered and cleared his throat. "I can definitely see the appeal to… that sort of thing."

Avery turned around, wrapping her arms his neck as her muscles still thrummed pleasantly with the sweetness of the orgasm. Cullen's pupils were gaping and black, his cheeks flushed and breath coming short. To their right was the dilapidated tower, a crumbling room full of dust and broken boards and one rickety table. Almost at the moment Avery's eyes settled upon the door Cullen had surged backward, grabbing her by the hand, dragging her over to it.

In a blinding whir he'd pulled her inside and pushed her hard against the closed door, his mouth crashing into hers with a whimper as he worked the ties of his breeches. It took a second for the shock of the sudden action to subside, and then she sprung to his aid, readying her hands to push his breeches down as soon as the flaps were loose. In the span of a breath she was being lifted off the ground and held fast against the door by strong hands, while she guided his cock toward an immediate entry, plunging hard and deep inside her in a single move.

She didn't try to restrain the cry that seized her throat as she was instantly, overwhelmingly filled by the solid mass of his cock, and she pulled his mouth back onto hers as he began to thrust, fast and hard, pounding her against the thick wooden door. Her thighs were clamped tightly around his waist and he moved his hands up to her hips, holding her body steady as he hammered away, grunting and growling while nipping hard at her bottom lip, his breath hissing through his teeth.

"Yes, fuck me Cullen," she whined as his cockhead repeatedly connected with the still aching mass of sensations deep inside her, propelling her swiftly back into another ecstatic delirium. "Yes," she gasped, sinking her hips deeper, angling for the greatest possible penetration. His fingers dug into her thighs, his eyes black and lost to an erotic daze while he pressed her hard against the door. She surrendered to it, welcoming the force, the speed, the strength that was so evident in his powerful body. She cried out with abandon as he growled and bit her, drinking deep from her mouth while his cock worked her into a frenzy, delivering jarring thrust after jarring thrust, the sensations within building up to a blinding crescendo faster than she could keep up with it. Her second orgasm was crashing its way out of her at the moment he his body tensed up, his hands pressing her hips down onto his as he cried out with the force of his own release. His tortured voice came high and desperate as he spasmed his pleasure between her thighs, his hips slowly resuming shallow, measured thrusts as he emptied himself into her.

"Fuck…" he sighed as he fell forward, sandwiching her between his heaving chest and the door.

She kept her face tilted up so as not to inhale the red and black fur of his pauldron, and clutched hard at the broad expanse of his shoulders, sliding her hand over the sweat moistened flesh of his neck.

After several more deep breaths, Cullen began to laugh. It started soft, and built into a giggle that was loud and unrestrained, almost a little wild. Unable to help it, she joined him. He lowered her down, her thighs still feeling the firm grip of his hands even after he released her, and together they leaned against the door, trying to catch their breath between bursts of laughter.

"What?" she asked eventually, her cheeks beginning to ache at the strain.

"Nothing, I just…" he gasped as he tried to calm himself, "I love you."

She smiled even harder as she grabbed a drape of red fabric and pulled him against her again, bringing his mouth within range of hers.

"Good," she said giddily, capturing his lips in a long, tender kiss that she drained her soul into, holding his mouth as though it was the most precious, most delicious thing in the world.

 

 

 

"Have you eaten?" she asked him, once his breeches were closed and their clothing resettled.

"I have not, but I could spare a little more time if you want to head to the tavern for a quick bite?" he offered, his cheeks still charmingly pink.

"That sounds lovely. Lead the way, Commander," she sighed, taking his hand and allowing herself to be pulled along.

The tavern was full, with most of Skyhold apparently having the same idea to stop their duties and grab a pint and some grub, and Cullen and Avery had to wind through a thick crowd of people to look for a table, but found none available. Cullen grumbled under his breath when Anon spotted them and waved an invitation to join him, Bull and Cassandra at a large booth near the window.

"Beggars can't be choosers," she nudged to Cullen as they made their approach.

"Yeah, yeah," he teased, flashing her a sheepish smirk. "You go grab our seats and I'll get some food and a couple pints."

She nodded and he released her hand, taking a moment to sneak a pat to her bottom before she turned to weave through the crowded room. She smiled a greeting and seated herself at Anon's table. Bull was eating off a tray that held enough food for five men, while Cassandra and Anon sipped quietly from large horn flagons.

"Champion!" Anon exclaimed as she sat, looking slightly tipsy.

"Inquisitor!" she returned.

"Just getting in a little last minute, emergency drinking," Anon said, taking a deep swig from his flagon. "Who knows if we'll get this chance in Halamshiral! At least I won't."

"Right, gotta stay on top of the 'game' there," Avery agreed. "Can't have the Inquisitor getting all sloppy drunk in front of the Empress."

Cullen set a flagon in front of her and slid a plate of cold meats and fruit between them, lowering himself into his chair beside her. She smiled bashfully as he scooted his chair closer, resting his thigh against hers as he began to pick at the meats on the plate.

"Yep," Anon sighed dejectedly, "much to my dismay. You, however, will be free to imbibe on into the night," Anon continued. "I envy you. I'm sure all those Orlesians will be much more amusing with a few glasses of wine in the belly."

Cullen flashed her a quiet glance, but didn't say anything. Avery sighed.

"Actually I'm not going after all," she said, trying to make the announcement sound cheery.

"What!? Nonsense," Anon said, frowning as he looked pointedly at Cullen. "You seemed excited to go when I invited you."

"Yes, well, I changed my mind," Avery said.

"But I saw you with Bonny the other day, getting fitted for a dress," Cassandra said. "Isn't that what you picked up this morning?"

Avery looked at her in surprise.

"What, I just happened to be nearby both times. It's not like I watch you or anything," Cassandra shrugged. Cullen caught Avery's eye again, giving her a sincerely apologetic look.

" _We_  decided that it might stir up too much controversy," Cullen added, his eyes flicking away to return Anon's stare without blinking. "I didn't want it to cause any problems and become a distraction that you don't need, Inquisitor."

Cassandra nodded in agreement. "Well, yes, that is something to consider," she said. "If everyone is talking about the Champion and the Commander, then they won't be talking about their plans against Empress Celene, which is what we want them to do. This is a reconnaissance mission as much as anything else."

Avery sat quietly while Anon frowned. Bull ignored them all, continuing to eat without pausing. She picked at the cheese, and took a long drink from her flagon. The ale was cold and refreshing, soothing a throat that felt much more parched than she expected. Must have been from all the heavy breathing just moments before.

"No, I'm sorry, this is nonsense," Anon said with a tipsy hiccup. "You wanted to go, so you're going to go. If the Commander doesn't want to be your date, then you can be mine."

"It's not that I didn't  _want—"_ Cullen began.

"People will still talk Mahanon," Cassandra interrupted sternly.

"So? It won't be the same. I am not Kirkwall's former Knight-Captain dating the city's most notorious apostate," he laughed. Avery almost laughed herself. That title probably belonged to Anders now.

"Besides, it's not as if I'm trying to steal her from the Commander. All she has to do is dance with me for a few rounds and make all the other girls there just jealous enough to start throwing themselves at me. Mostly she can… mingle… or whatever you want to do, Champion."

"Anon, it's fine if I don't go. Really. I don't want to cause any problems."

"Did you get fitted for a dress?" Anon asked pointedly, turning his big black gaze toward her.

"Well, yes, but that was before Cullen— I mean, before he and I  _both_  agreed-" she continued.

"And you picked it up this morning, it's all ready to go?"

"Well, yes, but- "

"Then make sure you pack it," he said with a grin, completely ignoring the icy glare being cast at him by Cullen. "I'd be proud to have you on my arm at the Winter Palace."

"Mahanon, no. This is ridiculous," Cullen said firmly. "Ignore what I want all you like, but if  _she_  is insisting on staying—"

"Commander, she is insisting on staying because she doesn't want to disappoint you, not because she  _wants_  to stay."

Avery shifted uncomfortably in her seat, picking up Cullen's hand under the table and squeezing it.

"I can speak for myself, thank you very much," Avery barked, "I'll be staying here."

"You have your orders, Champion," Anon said pleasantly. "You will be my date, and Commander Curmudgeon can just go pout by himself in a corner if he wants to. The Inquisition needs as many eyes and ears as we can get inside the Palace, plus you obviously want to go. So as far as I'm concerned, it's a win win."


	15. Chapter 15

"I've got tons to finish up tonight, so if you'll excuse me…" Cullen said politely before giving Avery's thigh a squeeze under the table and then getting up to leave. He'd stayed longer than Avery expected him to after Anon's little power trip, sitting quietly with that dignified, unruffled expression that he'd perfected back in Kirkwall. But his stiffness was evident, all his movements just a little too calculated not to betray a hint of his disapproval. Anon watched him walk toward the door with a shiny glint in his eye, seeming pleased that he'd managed to get under Cullen's skin yet again.

"You can thank me later, Champion," Anon smirked.

The cocky, satisfied tone pushed at the limits of Avery's irritation. Sure, she had actually wanted to go to the ball and was somewhat thankful that she'd be able to, but the whole point had been to go with  _Cullen_. And how  _dare_  Anon be so disrespectful to the man who worked his ass off, at the expense of his own mental and bodily health, to keep him and his bloody Inquisition so well defended!? She seethed quietly for a moment, realizing there was little she could do.

In a rush of impotent frustration she found herself flinging a slice of cheese at Anon's face, wishing it was something closer to what the tingling tips of her fingers were calling for, such as a spear of ice or a ball of fire.

"Stop calling me Champion!" she growled, trying to stifle the angry buzz of magic and feeling her cheeks grow hot with the effort. If Cullen could stay composed and not give Anon the satisfaction of a real fight, then she could do the same. At least she should try not to do or say anything that couldn't be shrugged off or taken back.

The cheese stuck to his forehead, dangling over his eye. He sat there confused for a moment and then pulled it off with a laugh and took a bite. It was all so ridiculous and ineffectual compared to what she'd rather have done that it was almost enough to crack the sudden rush of anger and make her laugh along with him.

"But you  _are_  the Champion," he said as he threw the half-eaten piece right back at her, sticking to her chest. She peeled it off and flung it back, and this time he ate the whole thing.

"Not anymore," she said exasperatedly. "It's been years since I've even set foot in Kirkwall."

Unable to help herself, needing to do something more, she picked up a slice of meat off her plate. She chose the weird, marbled looking salami thing with a questionable smell, and lobbed it hard at his face. It connected with his cheek and then slid down into his hair. It just so happened to be the sort of thing she and Anders used to do whenever they argued while they were eating. Perhaps not the most mature method for handling conflict, but peculiarly satisfying all the same.

He laughed again, ignoring her scowl in his infuriatingly dismissive way, and sniffed the meat with a sour face as he pulled it off and dropped it off onto Bull's tray. Bull immediately stabbed it with his fork and ate it. Cassandra rolled her eyes and groaned unhappily before taking her flagon and leaving the table.

"And  _stop_  antagonizing Cullen!" Avery demanded, glaring hard at Anon.

"But he makes it so easy," Anon whined playfully. He tried to pick a piece of potato out of Bull's tray, presumably to throw back at her. Bull swatted his hand away.

Avery balled her hands into fists to keep from throwing her flagon at his face next. This was the Inquisitor, she reminded herself. Yes he was just a cocky kid, but technically he was in charge of the whole charade and it wouldn't do to rip his head off in the middle of the tavern right before they were about to try to stop the assassination of the Empress.

"Shit, she looks kinda serious, boss," Bull warned.

She sighed and stood, slamming her chair against the table much harder than she intended, and stalked out of the tavern. She'd taken several steps across the grass before she heard a familiar voice behind her.

"Champ—er, I mean, Hawke," called Cassandra. Avery stopped and watched as the woman sprinted across the lawn, slowing to take the last few steps cautiously as she assessed Avery's scowl. Avery sighed and unclenched her jaw, trying to look a little less combative.

"We should really talk about the Ball, if you have a moment," Cassandra began. Avery sighed and nodded as she rolled a little of the tension out of her shoulders.

"Good, thank you. So, both Mahanon and Cullen make valid points. You and Cullen might become a bit of a distraction, especially if you are not able to help yourselves from carrying on there the way you do here. However if you do not go, then I probably should, so that at least one of us could be there in case Cullen needs any… assistance."

Avery frowned as she considered what Cassandra was implying. "Assistance? Do you really think he would?"

"I do not know for sure. He might be fine. But he will be under extra stress from the travel and the fact that he detests these things as much as I do … and then, Mahanon…" she sighed and rolled her eyes again. "Who knows what else he might say or do. The Winter Palace is the last place Cullen would want to have an episode. I have seen him get headaches that were almost completely debilitating, and that could be a big problem," Cassandra said. She paused and looked around, apparently trying to choose her words carefully.

"I don't mean to imply that he needs to be babysat or anything. He would hate that. It's just as likely that he would quietly endure any issues without anyone even noticing, as he usually does. But I would feel better if at least one of us was there, just in case."

"Yes," Avery said as a twinge of worry crept up her spine. "Yes, of course."

"Mahanon might like to think he can order you around, but you are not sworn to the Inquisition. If you don't show for departure in the morning then there is really nothing he can do about that," she continued. "I just need to know if that is your decision, so I can be ready to go in your stead."

"No, no. I'll go," Avery said. "I was planning to already, before this morning anyway."

Cassandra nodded, her sharply angled brows softening in relief.

"Okay, good. Thank you. Just… do be mindful of not becoming fodder for the gossip mill. It would be all the more scandalous if you were there as Mahanon's date and  _also_  sneaking around with the former Knight-Commander," she said. "As much as even I might like to see the Orlesians lose their heads over that, blending in as much as possible will increase everyone's chances of getting all the information Mahanon needs."

"Of course," Avery confirmed. Cassandra gave an appreciative smile, before nodding and turning to walk away. She took two steps and stopped, then turned back around.

"I also don't mean to imply that you don't know how to behave. I've become too used to dealing with a young man who often acts like a child. My apologies Ch— Hawke."

Avery smiled, realizing in that moment just how much she liked this woman. "Well you did just see me attack the Inquisitor with a slice of cheese, so I probably have that coming," she admitted sheepishly. With a parting thanks, Avery turned to make her way back to her quarters.

She slowly opened the door to Cullen's office, listening for the sounds of any additional voices that might indicate he had visitors. But all inside the room was quiet. The candles illuminated the room with a soft, golden glow, while Cullen sat at his desk, quill in hand, with a stack of scrolls at the far end, all sealed and ready for sending. Avery walked toward him quietly, trying to gage his mood as she made her approach, feeling the little excited flip in her stomach as his sharp eyes flicked up at her from beneath lowered brows. Despite his intense expression, his lip began to curl into his half-smile as he watched her, giving his smirk a little hint of wickedness. She breathed a sigh of relief as it became clear that any lingering anger was not directed at her. In fact he seemed perfectly fine.

"So I guess it's back to hiding," she said as she stepped behind his chair and bent down to place a kiss on the warm skin of his neck. His quill froze in place as he leaned his head against hers.

"Only for a night," he added with a resigned sigh. He signed the scroll before him and began rolling it closed. "It's not ideal, but we've been through worse."

"True," she admitted. She'd been half expecting that he might suggest she ignore Anon's order and stay behind anyway, but she supposed it wasn't that simple even for him. For whatever reason, decades of deeply ingrained training perhaps, he deferred to the authority of his leader, even if that leader was capable of acting like a petulant brat.

She still felt weary at the prospect of constantly filtering herself again, keeping her eyes and hands to herself when all she ever wanted to do was reach out and touch him, even if only for a quick squeeze to his hand, but she supposed that would automatically be required in the Winter Palace anyway, regardless of whether she and Cullen were out in the open. It was certainly worth a night of resorting to their old Kirkwall habits if it meant being close in case Cullen needed her, a thought that hadn't even occurred to her before Cassandra mentioned it. And there was no doubt that Anon gallivanting around with her on his arm would not make things any more pleasant for either of them. Her feelings about the upcoming ball were only becoming more complicated.

"I'm sorry," she said with another light kiss, brushing her lips against the fragrant skin at his hairline.

"It's not your fault, love," he assured her. "It's mine. If I hadn't burdened you with my concerns about gossip then none of that would have even happened, and you'd be going with  _me_ , and not him." He shook his head and loosed a derisive laugh. "Him, of all the bloody people!"

He paused again, turning to kiss the top of her head.

"But I also was not looking forward to being parted from you entirely either. We'll have to be conscious of our actions, which has always been a challenge for me wherever you're concerned. I'm definitely going to need your help with that," he sighed, "but at least we'll be together for the travel."

She gave him another light kiss and straightened up to a stand, bringing her hands up to begin rubbing the back of his neck, slowly massaging away any remaining tension in the thick, corded muscles that lead down to his shoulders. She was limited by the metal armor at his collar, but what little flesh she had to work with seemed to do the job. He groaned uninhibitedly as he let his head roll back against her.

"I absolutely abhor the thought of Mahanon prancing around with you like you're some prize he won just for being the bloody Inquisitor," he added with a groan.

"Yes, well, I might be his date for one night," she said. "But I am yours  _every_  night. And every morning. And all day long. And even on holidays."

He snorted, his scowl slipping.

"Is that so?" he asked. A slow smile began to creep over his face, "Does that include Satinalia? That one was always my favorite."

"I'll have to check to be sure, but I'm pretty sure that's a yes," she laughed. "At least this year."

"Very good," he said, feigning seriousness. "I shall adjust my schedule accordingly."

She laughed softly as she worked his muscles, savoring the firm strength that existed in even a part of him as innocuous as his neck.

"By the way, how is it exactly that you haven't knocked the Inquisitor's teeth out yet?"

Cullen let out a loud, hearty laugh. "So you're finally beginning to understand."

His laugh turned to a groan as she rubbed her knuckles into tight ribbons of muscle along the vertebrae, working her way slowly up to massage into his scalp.

"He can be likable one minute, and then so… punchable the next," she observed. "It's a little disorienting."

"Yes, so very true. If you ever have a mind to hit him yourself please do me a favor and make sure I am close by," Culled sighed. "I would pay to see that. And I would probably need to make passionate love to my fearsome lady immediately afterward. So, you know, fair warning."

"Well now  _there's_  motivation," she laughed. "Mahanon's days are now officially numbered."

Cullen grasped her hand and pulled, flinging her easily around the chair so that she landed sideways in his lap. She laughed as she adjusted, slinging her knees over one arm of the chair and leaning back against the other, getting comfortable against his chest.

"How did I get so lucky?" he asked. His eyes were warm and adoring, and a flush crept up her cheeks as she picked up the gloved hand that rested upon her bare knee and began gingerly working the glove down his arm.

"I feel like  _I_ am the lucky one."

"Why in the Void would you be the lucky one? You've got, as Mahanon put it, a  _curmudgeon_  with a whole host of issues, not the least of which is recurrent nightmares that will ensure you never sleep through the night again. And then there's the anxiety and the lyrium…"

"I don't care if I never sleep through the night again, as long as I get to spend my nights in bed with you. And besides, you slept through the night yourself two nights in a row now," she informed him.

"I did?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.

"You don't remember?"

"I don't know, I suppose I just didn't think too much about it…" he said. "It's hard to think about much of anything when I wake up to you naked in my arms."

He smiled and gave her a squeeze, his hand brushing lightly up her thigh. "And if I did sleep through the night then I am certain that is your doing. It certainly helps that my body has been thoroughly exhausted every day that you've been back."

She felt herself blush again, watching that scar as his delectable lips curled back into that wicked smirk.

"Well my love, I hate to break it to you, but you're not the only one of us with issues. I do have plenty of my own," she said. "You're not exactly getting a spring chicken in this bargain."

"Oh yes, I know you have issues. I can see many of them right now," Cullen agreed as he looked her over, "clear as day."

"Oh, really?" she laughed, "and what exactly do you mean?"

"Well for starters you're entirely too kind and understanding. Your generosity knows no bounds, which is a little ridiculous to be honest. Your eyes are an almost unnatural shade of blue which is probably the work of demons, just like that creamy skin. All in all, your beauty is… well, frankly, it can be downright annoying. I can never stop looking at you and I don't know how in the Void I am expected to get anything done."

Avery giggled as he spoke, his attempt at seriousness slowly cracking into a smile as he went on.

"So you're saying I shouldn't come lounge around in your office all day while you try to work?" she teased.

"Definitely not," he laughed, "As much as I would love it, the Inquisition would end up completely defenseless. Corypheus would take over the world and it'd be all your fault."

"Well, we can't have that," she sighed.

"No we can't," he agreed softly as his expression turned serious. He reached up to smooth a piece of hair behind her ear. "Don't worry, Avery. We all have issues, don't we? Anyone who saw the things we saw in the blight, and then you and me in Kirkwall… plus all that happened to your family… no sane person would just be perfectly fine after all that, no matter how convincingly they might act like it."

She looked up to see him studying her face quietly, his amber gaze soft and reassuring.

"And then there were those things that Cole said," he continued, and Avery startled inwardly, feeling the blood drain from her face. "And, well, I am no stranger to dark places. We've both been through hard times. Whatever issues you might have… they don't scare me."

Avery had to look away, feeling the unexpected swell of tears rising behind her eyes. She took a deep breath and blinked hard, trying to keep them pressed back.

"Do you happen to remember… more of what Cole said?" she asked as she cleared her throat nervously. She caressed his cheek, feeling the warmth that pulsed under his skin, the coarse brush of stubble on her fingertips. Inwardly she melted a little bit as she looked at him, taking in all the beloved details of his face, the little quirks of personality that flitted behind his eyes.

"I asked him myself," she continued, snapping herself out of her spell, "and he told me that he can't find the things he said because they aren't there anymore. Which I guess means he forgot too, or… I don't know."

"Well, not much. I've been sort of working out a few of the things that I do remember, or trying to. They're still vague, but it'd be impossible not to know the general feeling behind them," Cullen explained. "He said something about blood draining into a sea, and wanting to disappear into the waves," he said sadly as he squeezed her thigh and looked at her with deep, soulful eyes. She got the sense for a moment that he understood that too. It was both a relief and a worry. "And he said this thing that I do remember specifically… Two became three became one and then none. Which I've decided must have also been about the baby. And that your pain was deafening and he couldn't hear anyone else around it, and that he needed to help you so that  _he_  could have peace." He sighed, and was quiet for a moment.

"There's quite a bit more, but… I just can't even make sense of it enough to repeat it. And not only was I drunk but it was quite late by the time he found us. But, I don't know. He did seem to make a difference, and you definitely seem less… burdened. So for that I am grateful, even if the boy… thing, whatever he is still makes me a bit uncomfortable."

Avery nodded as she thought about it. It was saddening that so many people feared him, when she had sensed no malice in him whatsoever. He seemed to, quite literally, embody the very opposite of malice.

"Well, he did help," Avery said. "I mean, there are still things, of course… and the last few days I've just been so bloody happy that I haven't really thought about, well, anything really. Except you. And  _us._ "

"Yes," he agreed with a bashful smile, "me too."

"Getting you back and reading your letters, as sad as they are, has been very… restorative in its own way, on top of whatever Cole did." she said with a grateful smile.

"So then," she began, feeling out the question as she said it, "you're certain you won't let Cole… help you too?"

Cullen tensed up noticeably at the question, and almost immediately Avery regretted asking it. She probably should have just accepted Cole's explanation for Cullen's refusal, but now that the question was out, she needed to hear his answer.

"I am not in need of  _his_  help," he said. "I've had enough of spirits and demons letting themselves into my head, even if they are claiming to help."

"Even if he could take away your nightmares?" she asked meekly.

" _You_  take away my nightmares, as you've already so helpfully pointed out," he said definitively. Avery nodded, giving up the line of questioning.

"Not entirely," she said.

"Well that's fine. I've survived thus far, and that's not really your responsibility anyway. I can only ask that you'll… be patient with me. I certainly don't want to saddle you with any expectation that you must 'fix' all, or  _any_ , of my problems." he said with a frown, "Though I can't deny that your help has been… effective. And welcome. You make me feel… stronger."

She smiled. He'd said the same thing back in Kirkwall, and even now it filled her with a deeply satisfying warmth.

"Well the fix has been pretty simple so far, and I am more than happy to keep it up, especially now that we know what to do," she said. "I just need to sleep with you every single night — which means no more trying to leave me behind if you go anywhere —  _and_  make sure that I continue to keep your body 'thoroughly exhausted.' And let's be honest, that was sort of the plan anyway. No hardship there," she said, feeling pleased. "And you just need to… stay you and keep loving me. And then maybe we'll both remain sane and happy and sleep through the night for all of the foreseeable future."

He snorted, tightening his arms around her.

"As perfect as that sounds, I am sure it will not always be that simple," he warned, his eyes flashing dark and worried for a moment.

"Okay," she shrugged.

He laughed, looking at her as though he was expecting her to say more. He waited another heartbeat, and then another. But 'okay' pretty much summed it up.

"Okay," he agreed.

"I've no doubt it will get hard and messy at times. But whatever comes, we'll deal with it together. I am not afraid of dark places either, Cullen."

He laughed softly as he smoothed her hair back, drawing his fingers lightly between hanging tendrils and raising shivers over her skin. She sighed contentedly and let her head fall back onto his shoulder, closing her eyes for a moment and basking in the feel of him. His strong arms around her, his chest rising and falling against her as he breathed. That ever-present heartbeat thudding steadily on.

"Maker's Breath… could you imagine how different things would be if we hadn't met on the ledge that day?" he asked with a quiet laugh, "because I can't. It seems that this, right here, right now, is  _exactly_  where I am supposed to be. With  _you._  "

Avery smiled brightly, feeling herself warm completely from the inside out. There was no denying that she felt the same, and to hear him say it first made her heart swell so large she was sure it might be at risk of bursting.

"Well, I like to think that we'd have found our way here eventually, somehow," she said. "I can no longer imagine any scenario for my life in which I am not desperately in love with you."

He laughed, "desperately?"

"Desperately," she confirmed, opening her eyes to take in his beautiful face once again.

"Good," he said with a quiet laugh, "me, too."

"And you know, I'm not sure that we're really that lucky at all. I'm beginning to think you were right that Maker might have… helped things along."

Cullen was quiet for a moment, the changing browns of his eyes boring into her with an intensity that flooded her body with an electrifying cocktail of emotions.

"Yes," he said quietly. "I've always thought that. You were made for me, and me you. I am sure of it." He swallowed, his grip on her thigh sliding higher toward the short leather skirt.

She shifted in place, letting her hands trail up the plate of metal on his chest, finding their way to the hot skin under his collar. She was suddenly aware all over again that she was sitting in his lap, and his hips adjusted below her, as though he'd just remembered as well. Needing no urging, he leaned forward, his face closing the distance, lips coming in to brush lightly against hers. The arm resting behind her slid up to cup the back of her head, while his other hand returned to its place, warm and soft on the sensitive skin of her thigh.

She sighed, taking in the soft plumpness of his lips, the warm tip of his tongue as it met hers. She tilted her head and opened her mouth, welcoming him in as deeply as he wanted to come. He took the invitation with a hissing breath, sliding his tongue against hers. He smelled like sandalwood, and tasted like tea and mint and Avery pushed herself closer, nuzzling deeply into his chest. She clutched his jaw as she explored his mouth, scoring her fingers across his skin, reveling in the intoxicating warmth of his mouth. It was strange how new everything still felt despite how much they'd already talked, how much they made love over the past three days. Somehow the closeness of him still made her feel like she couldn't quite get enough air, his touch igniting a fire in her blood that burned so hot she didn't know if it could ever be fully quenched. He broke away gently and looked down to where his hand caressed her bare thighs.

"I also think the Maker might have made this outfit of yours especially for me, too," he said with a laugh. "Do you have any more of these? These short ones like this?"

"So the Maker is in the business of sewing leathers now, is he? "

"Apparently so," he confirmed playfully.

"Well I only have this pair, but I can get some more," she said with a quiet laugh."You like this then?"

"I love it," his hand slowly slid under the edge of the leathers, dragging slower and harder as it slid to the outside, making its way toward her buttocks. "Being able to touch your skin so easily, seeing those milky thighs, knowing that there is so little between my hands and your… "

He swallowed hard, as though his throat was too dry to finish the sentence. His eyes flashed dark as his palm raked around her hip, digging beneath her and seeking out a handful of her flesh.

"Good," she said quietly, "I like it too. I want you to touch me. Whenever, wherever. I don't care."

"Yes. Maker, yes," he breathed. His fingers curled under a cheek of her buttocks, finding the deep, sensitive crease between them, gently sliding toward her awakening center.

His breaths were coming heavier, his curvy lips parted as he concentrated on the slow, deliberate movement of his hand.

"Can I make love to you now?" he asked.

"Yes. Please, Cullen."

She barely made it up half the ladder when Cullen's head pushed up under her skirt and his mouth landed hot upon a cheek of her bottom. She looked down to see that she was perfectly at his eye level and she laughed quietly. Had he gone up first, sans pants and smalls, she was sure she'd be doing the same thing. He nipped the mound of her buttocks, drawing a surprised yelp from her throat, before dragging his mouth closer to her center, sliding his tongue deep into the crease between her legs. He groaned softly as his tongue slid forward and pressed into her, the volume of his groan rising with disappointment as she tried to continue her ascent to the loft. As sublime as his mouth always felt, she was desperate have him naked and against her, but strong hands grabbed her hips and held her steady. She sighed and released herself to him, bracing herself against the rungs of the ladder as he moaned and suckled at the folds of her lips.

When he moved to adjust his grip, she slipped out of his hands and made her escape, working quickly to get to the top of the ladder. She climbed over the floor of the room and turned around to flash him an inviting smile as he rocketed up behind her. Rung after rung he climbed, and when he reached the top he just kept moving, climbing over top of her and seizing her mouth in a forceful kiss. Immediately her body was claimed and enclosed by his strong arms, crushing her into a tight, commanding embrace.

She kissed him back just as hard, devouring his mouth as though her life depended on it, while nimble fingers flew to the clasps of his armor, pulling leather straps from buckles, pushing away leather and fabric and metal. She kicked at his boots, and then realizing she still had her own on, kicked at those too. With a series of jerks and tugs, pulling and flailing limbs, finally the body against her was bare, his skin blazing hot and firmly muscled. In another whir of motion she was lifted, moving through the air as he carried her to the bed. She noticed absentmindedly how easy it was to see in the room, and through partially closed eyes managed to spot a bright slice of moon shining through the open portion of ceiling, casting a silvery blue light over the curves of his shoulders and the graceful lines of his strong neck. She closed her eyes again as he lowered her onto the bed and climbed up over her, but instead of lying back she pulled herself upright and directed him to sit, lowering herself over his lap. His eyes shined dark and black in the silvery light, running up and down her body, taking in the curves of her breasts just moments before his hands slid over them, his fingers teasing lightly around her constricted nipples.

His deep breathing rushed in an even rhythm through the dark, sharpening to a hiss as she slowly guided her body down onto his straining cock, feeling the delicious stretch and glide of him as he pushed deeper and deeper within. He always felt just at the verge of being too long when she was on top, inciting a mild bite of pain as she let her weight settle fully upon him, but it was only just enough to push the aching sweetness to a new level of intensity. He was still for a moment, his eyes closed as she clenched against him and savored the sensation of being fully joined, utterly filled. As she slowly started to move, sliding herself up and then back, his hands left her hips and explored the expanses of her, pressing warmly into every hidden nook. Her face was pulled to his and his mouth clamped to hers, demanding entry as he breathed heavily through his nose, and she gratefully relented, opening completely, drinking in his mouth, his tongue, making love in her kiss. Her focus blurred away into abandon as his body began to rock with hers, smooth and steady, slowly building up sparks of friction that promised a blissful, satisfying deliverance.

His hair was soft between her fingers, the curve of his head solid and real under her probing palms, his jaw working slowly with each suckling kiss, and her whole body was pressed backward with the delving force of his mouth. She sighed in ecstasy, returning the push back toward him, lips grinding against teeth while their mouths met in a slow crush of growing urgency. She needed to know, to feel, to take in every little piece of him, every bone and tendon and inch of meat and skin, to possess and be possessed. She dug her fingers into the thick pads of flesh at his back, his shoulders, his waist, measuring the strength and softness of every muscled hill with the hungry force of her hands.

Her heart worked slightly faster than his as she let her body control the pace, the beating of their pulses just enough out of sync that together it sounded like a horse galloping, traveling some windy path toward some blissful nirvana. But she was not conscious of any need for orgasm; needing not a physical release, but a release from the physical; to move into and beyond the body and feel his soul and his voice and his hopes and to give him all of hers, to wreck her vessel upon the rocks of his shore and be absorbed together into an endless sea.

But the physical responded despite her intentions, racking her nerves with powerful, resonating shudders that stung at the surface of her skin, each cell in her body as full to bursting with sensation as her heart was with love, as her inner recesses were with his engorged flesh, as her mouth was full with his. She heard whimpers as slowly their pace increased, following the primal needs of their body to finish what they'd started, and in the occasional clearing of the haze in her mind, she came to feel sore streaks running down her back, burning at her buttocks. It was the lingering remnants of his touch as he bruised across her, digging into her flesh with the same ardency as she had his, leaving behind rebounding muscles trying to uncollapse themselves in the aftermath of his strength.

His whimpers became low, throaty growls as his mouth finally pulled away from hers and tore down her neck, suckling and biting. He was holding her so tightly that she couldn't expand her chest enough to breathe, but it didn't matter. She didn't need air when she had  _Cullen_ , she had within her grasp the object of her urgent, unbearable need, the man who her love and her body demanded to the point of shattering, holding her hostage every moment they were apart. And now he was there, and everything had changed, every single damned thing in the world had changed and twisted and became almost unrecognizable, all of it except the fact that he loved her. For some unknowable reason, his love had endured the time and the distance and the heartbreak of her absence, and if his arms crushed every last bone in her body and she never took a breath again, the only thing that would still matter was the fact that he loved her.

Somewhere along the way, they fell back onto the bed. Her body had merged with his, with the sky, the moon, and the air, ringing loud against the walls of the room with the sharp trill of sex, harmonizing with the music of his cries, his grunts, his voice whispering, low and sultry,  _I love you. I love you. Stay with me forever._

"Yes," she gasped as they emptied into each other, "yes, I am yours, always and forever."


	16. Chapter 16

The gate chamber was loud with the echoes of preparation. The wagons had been wheeled in and were being reorganized with last minute luggage, and runners and workers were barking messages back and forth to each other while they readied horses and checked ties and mechanics. Cullen had a few final things to tie up with the guards who'd be staying behind, so Avery had made her way down to the gate chamber by herself, resting quietly in the back corner while she watched all the runners put their final touches on the caravan. She was sure everyone could travel much lighter than this if they wanted to, but it was a three day trip each way to Halamshiral, with considerably more people coming along than in the Inquisitor's usual excursions.

Three modest looking wagons filled the chamber road, though upon closer inspection they each seemed to be spacious and comfortably outfitted, with nicely padded seating and shuttered windows. Between the three would be split Avery, Anon, Solas, Bull, a haughty looking mage named Vivienne, and the Advisors. A small cache of supplies for the road would ride along inside while trunks and luggage were stowed under seats and in rear compartments.

Avery was a little nervous about three days stuck in a small space with these people, as she knew how these kinds of journeys could test old and new relationships in so many unexpected ways. They all seemed nice enough, and she knew she'd have no trouble getting along with Solas, and probably even Anon if she tried hard enough, and surely it wasn't the others' first journey together either, but she knew that tensions could arise easily and she had no desire to find herself in the midst of any drama.

She hadn't even had to ask to know that Cullen wasn't going to be setting foot in any of the wagons to ride along with her. He'd be staying on horseback, traveling alongside the caravan with the four guards who were assigned security detail, leaving her on her own to get to know the others in the party while they were on the road. The guards were just a precaution, more for appearances than they were for actual defense. Maker help any bandits or miscreants who made the unfortunate decision to attack  _this_  particular caravan in the first place. Containing three mages and a hulking Qunari, the inhabitants of the wagons were surely deadlier than those who stood guard outside.

But Avery was also glad not to have to make the entire trip on horseback herself. The trip to Crestwood had been conducted via horse and by the time they'd returned she was certain that the soreness in her butt was just going to be a permanent feature in her body from then forward. It had eventually gone away, but the prospect of moving about and stretching her legs when she needed to was so much more appealing. She had her portfolio of letters easily accessible in her small daypack, sitting alongside a large flask of whiskey and a sack full of nuts and dried berries, and she planned on spending her time reading and napping, and trying not to get stuck in the same wagon with the haughty mage. The way that woman looked down her nose at everyone, Avery was certain she would be very unpleasant company.

The bridge loomed long and narrow just on the other side of the open gate, and Avery pressed herself back against the inner stone wall, her mind suddenly envisioning the giant gulf of space that waited just meters away. In a disorienting blink she'd gone from unconcerned and oblivious, distracted by the rush of activity around the wagons and the excitement of departure, to feeling dizzy and as though the very chamber she was standing in could crumble into the Void any moment. She tried to steady her breathing, telling herself that the place had been standing there without issue for hundreds of years now, and probably would remain another hundred or more. It would only take a handful of minutes before once again that bridge was long behind them, with nothing ahead but warmer weather, a couple nights at camp and hopefully a lovely, uneventful evening at a luxurious Palace. All she had to do was stay calm, and wait.

Anon and Bull finally showed, nodding a quick hello to her as they dropped the last of their gear on the ground near one of the wagons. Bull was bringing along an absurdly large battleaxe, that would probably need to be strapped to one of the roofs, and Avery laughed as she saw him considering the height of the wagon ceilings. The whole thing was almost as tall as he was when he was standing beside it, but for the bulk of the trip he'd be inside and sitting. Even if the man had preferred to ride like Cullen was, putting all that weight on the back of a horse was just cruel. If Bull was careful, the wagon would probably be fine. But if he stood up too fast without thinking, the wagon would certainly gain a fresh pair of skylights.

A light scuffing on the ground beside her alerted to her Solas' presence. He'd come to join her as she leaned against the stone, glancing out the corner to his eye at her with curiosity, likely wondering why she was plastered against the wall as she was. But he made no comment. The din of the chamber was slowly quieting, and several of the runners began milling around and talking to each other once they found themselves with no more left to do.

"Cole is very pleased to have made a new friend," Solas said with another sideways glance.

"Well, good," Avery responded. "I am too. He's seems very nice. I'd like to get to know him better." Solas smiled warmly at that.

"He encountered quite a bit of hostility among this group when he first arrived. A few are starting to come around, but most continue to avoid him, at least when they remember that he's there," Solas said, "I am grateful that you were so open minded and accepting. Cole does not deserve to be mistreated."

Avery nodded in agreement. It probably wasn't terribly surprising that so many would be wary of something,  _someone_ , as usual as Cole. It did make her sad to hear that he had few friends among the Inquisition, even as he continued to serve it as well as anyone else. "Well," she sighed, "like I mentioned, he's not the first spirit I've known. And he seems much kinder and more reasonable than the other one."

"Right. Your possessed friend," Solas recalled. "It was the spirit of Justice that he carried?."

"Justice… Vengeance… Bull Shit… Is there such thing as a spirit of Bull Shit?" Avery asked, only half joking. "Because he certain came to spew a lot of it in the later days that I knew them."

Solas laughed, a soothing musical sound that Avery didn't expect. Somewhere along the way she'd overheard Varric call him Chuckles, spoiling her attempts to guess. But she might not have guessed that one correctly anyway. She'd expected the recipient of that name to be far less pleasant than Solas turned out to be, though she was sure he probably could be just as grim as anyone.

"Yes, I am not surprised to hear that," Solas said.

"Oh really?" Avery asked.

"Really. It is especially difficult for a spirit sharing a body to stay pure in its purpose," he remarked thoughtfully. "Seeing every moment through the biased eyes of a person, sharing their physical appetites and their emotions, their memories and trauma… it will eventually come to alter even the strongest spirit. And I am to understand his host also carried the taint?"

Avery nodded again. It was so easy to forget that Anders had been a Grey Warden once upon a time. He'd said he no longer "wore the uniform or attended the parties," but the taint in his blood remained.

"Well. That man took on quite a collection of burdens," Solas said. "It's possible that the taint poisoned his passenger as much as it did himself."

"Well… shit. Yeah, I guess I never really considered that," Avery said with a nod. "You have many spirit friends yourself? At least, I assume that is why you must know so much about them?"

"That is correct," Solas confirmed.

The door beside them opened and Vivienne floated in, her trunk carried in quickly behind her by two young messengers. Before the door swung completely shut, it opened again, casting a bright streak of morning light that was quickly snuffed out by a large silhouette. Avery smiled as Cullen entered, looking as regal and imposing as ever.

Cullen raised an eyebrow as he turned to join the two of them, but Solas did not linger, giving a quiet bow and making his way toward the caravan.

"Looks like they should be ready to depart any moment now," he said as he eyed up the wagons. Several of the runners straightened up at Cullen's appearance, and began moving around, trying to look like they were doing something important. He gave a little snort and shook his head, recognizing the actions for what they were.

"Why… are you standing over here?" he asked curiously. "Shouldn't you be picking out your seat and getting settled?"

"I… yes, I suppose so. I mean, I don't really care too much where I sit, and our trunks are already loaded, so…" she sighed.

"What?" he asked as he looked her over, "why do you look so pale?"

"I… it's nothing," she said. Trying to shake it off.

" _What's_  nothing?" he asked again, his fingers lacing gently between hers and giving a little squeeze. It was embarrassing, and she didn't really want to admit it, but the thought of how forthcoming Cullen had always been to her with his fears and his issues, spurred her to confess.

"I just hate that bridge," she admitted meekly. "The heights, all that space below us with the wind whistling by… it makes me nervous. Kind of… terrified actually."

"Oh," he said as he raised his eyebrows and looked out through the open gate.

"If it wasn't so narrow and actually had real railings…" she continued, and then stopped. Phobias were something that most people had. Cullen enough of his own, though he had much better reasons for his.

"And yet you've survived crossing it numerous times now," he said.

"Yes, because I was in a wagon, and then on a horse, and I could just… not look," she said. "Just like now. But while I'm waiting I'll just keep my distance over here… Just in case."

"Just in case of what?" he asked with a gentle laugh.

"Oh a big blast of wind, the bridge collapses, a dragon attack, I get dizzy and somehow fall over the side…"

He snorted and placed a quick kiss on her head.

"Well, don't worry my love. You are not at risk of any of those things. Except maybe the dizzy part. But there's no way I would let you go over the side," he said. "You know… I don't know if I have ever actually seen you look  _afraid_ of anything before."

"Sure you have. I'm afraid all the time," she told him. "I was afraid for you constantly in Kirkwall."

"Is that so? Well, you were certainly good at hiding it. Unlike now. I'm sorry to ask, but have you…  _tried_  looking while you cross? Maybe it's not really as bad as you think it is?"

"Yes, and I regretted it every time," she said.

"What if someone was holding onto you? Keeping you safe?"

She looked at him warily. The whole exposure cure. She'd never had to try it before because she'd never spent so much time living and crossing bridges at such an ungodly height before.

"What exactly are you proposing, Cullen?"

"Well, ride with me. We can stop whenever you want and let you back into the wagon whenever you're ready. But with as small as you are I'm sure you'll fit comfortably in front of me in the saddle, if you're willing."

She laughed, "I find it very interesting that a man who can't spend any time in small, enclosed spaces is pushing me to do exactly what I'm afraid of."

"Well, that is a bit different," he said, a fact that she conceded with a shrug. She certainly had never been mentally tortured while at the ledge of a great height, "But maybe it might be different with me there. You can look, if you want. Or not. Your choice. Either way I'll be holding onto you and you'll remain perfectly safe. And… I'll get to have you close while we ride for a while. It is a beautiful trip up here in the peaks. A completely different world from the lower reaches."

She smiled at his offer, gripping his hand more tightly and letting her body come up against his as they stood, bumping shoulders, brushing against his chest. She looked out the door of the gate again. It really was absurd to feel so crippled by something so natural and inherently benign. With a deep breath, she nodded. If nothing else, just as he'd said, she could close her eyes.

"Good," he said.

And close her eyes she did as the crunching and creaking of the wagon wheels headed out before them. Cullen made his horse wait until they were the last to go, bringing up the rear of the caravan. It was comforting in its own way to see the wagons and other horses in front of them, none of them being mysteriously flung into the Void below them as her brain insisted upon imagining. She kept her eyes open and her hand clasped firmly over the arm Cullen wrapped protectively around her waist, looking on until the canopy of the chamber disappeared from her peripheral vision. As soon as the distant details of the icy valley below became visible, she felt the world begin to list and spin, and for a moment was certain she was about to fall off the horse. She grabbed Cullen's arm even tighter and closed her eyes. Her heart was pounding in her ears, but Cullen's chest rose slow and steady behind her, a calming force without even trying. And his neck happened to be at the perfect height for her to rest her head in its warm nook.

"You're safe, love," he whispered. "Even if there were winds strong enough to knock you off this thing, they'd have to take me and the horse along with you. And I would not let that happen." His voice rumbled low and smoky in her ear, and she concentrated on it. On him. She fit so well into the cradle of his chest, his arms, his neck. It was much more comfortable than she had anticipated a tandem horse ride to be.

"Are you looking?" he asked. She shook her head, squeezing her eyes closed even more. The horse clomped along at a leisurely pace, and she tried to pretend she was back on solid land again, and not a bridge perilously suspended, thousands of meters into the air.

"Shall we talk about something, to get your mind off it?" he asked, and didn't wait for her to answer before diving in.

"What ever happened to your dog? Brutus?"

Avery sighed, thinking fondly about the old, loyal mabari. He was getting on in years and wasn't traveling so easily anymore.

"He's still with Fenris," Avery answered.

"Ah, so still kicking around then?"

"Yes, but he's definitely getting a bit older. He might like a nice fireplace to lay in front of again, one of these days," she answered, feeling a pang of longing for her affectionate warhound. He'd actually loved camping for the first few years, clearly enjoying running out into the woods to hunt whenever he wanted, getting to fight and roll around in the mud. But the last few weeks they traveled together he ventured away less and less, dropping heavily onto the ground anytime they all stopped to rest.

"Well I wonder what people would think about bringing a dog to Skyhold," Cullen mused. "We're probably in need of one, or a few even. They do make terrific additions to an army."

"Well, his fighting days are close to over," Avery said. "And you might have to fight Fenris for him at this point. They got incredibly close. I swear sometimes they communicate telepathically."

"Hm," grunted Cullen thoughtfully. "Perhaps we could stud him out to some lucky female, and get a few ferocious warpuppies."

Avery laughed. "Warpuppies! Yes. Suddenly I find myself desperately in need of some of those."

"Well then, perhaps Fenris wouldn't mind bringing him here. You did say you wanted me to get to know him. And I would like that as well. Anyone who has served you so well for so long deserves my deepest thanks."

Avery sighed, "the last I heard from him he was headed in the opposite direction, on his way to Nevarra with a new friend he'd made," she explained. "I don't know how likely it would be for him to change his plans so drastically, but I could ask."

"Hm," he noddded again. She supposed she really should get a letter out to Fenris, let him know that she wouldn't be joining him again.

"We're halfway across the bridge now," Cullen said, taking a moment to place a light kiss on her earlobe. "Not much longer. Are your eyes still closed?"

She nodded, but had considered the possibility of opening them. Maybe looking would be helpful somehow. Maybe Cullen was right that it might not be as bad as she imagined. "I'm going to open them though," she decided on the spot. "Just keeping talking to me though, okay?"

"Of course," he said. "So, speaking of Fenris… Fenris and Anders!?" Cullen asked, his tone taking on a note of incredulity that made Avery laugh. She opened her eyes, and saw herself suspended between distant towering peaks, with a brightening morning sky expanding endlessly around them. Her heart quickened and suddenly her throat felt dry, but Cullen's arm was still tight around her stomach, holding her steady. It was enough of a comfort to calm her down a little bit. She had no doubt Cullen would prevent anything from happening to her, no matter how unlikely.

"I know, right?" she laughed.

"I can't even count how many times I was certain those two were going to kill each other, and that was only on the rare occasions that I even saw the group of you," he said. "And then they… they preferred each other over you? I just can't even comprehend… That just seems so…"

"I know," she laughed again, her nerves creeping in and making her voice shaky, "It was a shock to everyone. I mean, I'm the one who got to see…" she trailed off for a moment, wondering if she might have been about to go into too much detail for him, and tried to rein in her thoughts. Cullen might not want to hear what it was like to be in bed with the two of them, to watch them as their lust turned from something wild and almost punishing, and into something comfortable and exploratory… and then again to something tender and exclusive. It had surprised her as much as anyone. "I mean, they almost did kill each other, many times. I felt like I was traveling with bickering children when they were together…" she said as she tried to concentrate on the distant landscape, and not the massive drop off on either side of the bridge. Ahead she saw the twisting of the pathway as it wound around a mountain, and she breathed a little easier knowing that the end was coming.

"If they hadn't pushed you out of that little… threesome, like you said they did, do you think you'd all still be together?" he asked.

"No," she said definitively. "Even they didn't stay together much longer after I kicked them out. And Anders would have still done what he did, and there's no way Fenris would have suffered his company afterward."

"Well good. I mean, you know, I have them to thank, like you said. So I do. I am grateful," he said, "And you still have no idea what happened to Anders?"

"For all I know, he is long dead," Avery sighed. She felt Cullen giving a nod of agreement. She was sure he'd have more to say on the topic, particularly about the punishment that Anders certainly deserved, but he had apparently decided to hold his tongue on the matter.

"Oh look, the first wagon is off the bridge now. It's just a matter of moments before we are too," he said. "Are your eyes open now?"

"They are," she confirmed with a creeping smile.

"And was that as bad as it usually is?"

"No. No it wasn't. Thanks to you," she said, craning her head back to kiss his jaw. He leaned into her kiss and she saw felt the spread of his cheek as he smiled against her head.

"Well, I'm still proud of you my darling," he said. She couldn't help but grin shyly at that.

"While we're asking questions, how did you get that new scar on your lip?"

He snorted, "I take it you haven't gotten to that letter yet?"

She sighed. She'd been neglecting the letters. While on the one hand, she had no regrets about spending as much of her time with Cullen in the flesh as possible, on the other hand she was desperate for the information the letters contained, most specifically that pertaining to his lyrium withdrawals. It seemed more and more likely she needed to be prepared for an inevitable recurrence.

"Well, I plan to catch up on as much reading as possible while I languish away in the wagons later on," she informed him.

"I do hope you'll continue to join me on horseback too," he said. "Unless you're not enjoying this? It won't all be valleys and bridges you know. And it will only get warmer as we get lower."

"I am loving this actually, Cullen. Of course I am…" she said as she leaned back into his chest. That plate of armor remained in place, as it always did, but the skin of his neck was warm against her ear, the strong bulk of his arms caging her into a welcome embrace as the horse galloped steadily along.

"I happily will join you, as much as my bottom can handle, " she joked.

"Good. Please let me know when your beautiful bottom does get sore, and I'll make sure it gets all the pampering it can handle as soon as we make camp," he answered, his voice taking on a deliciously tempting note.

"I'll bear that in mind, Commander," she smirked. "Maker, maybe I won't get any reading done after all…"

By the afternoon their conversation waned, but the silence was comfortable and welcome. Cullen was correct in that the views were spectacular, and they'd begun nuzzling more openly. They were at the rear of the caravan anyway, and free from prying eyes, and chanced longer and longer periods of looking away from the road while she strained her neck to turn and kiss him. His lips were cold, and had begun to dry out from exposure to the icy mountains air, which Avery took as all the more reason to continue. She at least could warm them up, give them a spot of moisture from time to time. Avery fell into a blissful stupor, gawking in awe at the dramatic landscape around her, while feeling the quiet rhythms of Cullen's body pressed into hers. Occasionally he'd arch his back in a stretch, or shift his hips to work out a kink in his spine, and she felt every movement as though it was her own, as tightly pressed together as they were. She heard his stomach when it began to growl in hunger, and she reached into a pouch to locate a stash of snacks, popping nuts and berries into his mouth for him while he smiled at her appreciatively. For a time he let his head rest against hers, propped up just enough that he could still look ahead, but eventually he grew heavy and Avery had to stretch her own back to free herself from some of the strain.

The only downside had been the blasted metal plate on his torso which prevented them from sharing much in the way of body heat, and once they were long departed from the magical cocoon of Skyhold, the cold became biting, and she began to shiver. He called the caravan to a halt, and ordered her into a wagon to warm up, reminding her when she groaned in disappointment that it wouldn't always be that cold. She shrugged and obeyed, emptying the last wagon and stretching out next to a sleeping Josephine. Leliana nodded a quiet greeting, herself nose deep in a thick book, and Avery happily pulled out the portfolio and began to leaf through the upcoming letters.

She realized with a start that the blackened letter covered in spilled ink was only four pages away. As she thought about the unsettling disorientation Cullen had displayed in the last letter she'd read, her mood quickly took a turn. The black page no longer seemed as funny and endearing as it had when she first saw it. She'd assumed then that the ink spillage had been a simple accident, and she had thought it cute, envisioning an irritated Cullen trying to clean up a mess. But the hairs on her neck rose as she eyed the uncharacteristically messy script on the upcoming pages. He was only getting deeper into the lyrium withdrawal as the pages went on. Suddenly the black letter looked significantly more frightening. The next letter in line was messier than his usually were, his script loose and fast, but it was legible.

_My darling Avery,_

_Today has been a good day so far, so I am taking this opportunity to try to write you something a bit more coherent than my last two letters I tried. I threw those away after I looked down at them and saw what appeared to be gibberish. But right now my mind feels clearer and my hands are more steady and for whatever reason these seem to help bring me a little bit of peace. But Maker am I glad now that you will never see these. Though even as I say that, I continue to imagine that I truly am speaking to you when I write, which is completely at odds with all the things I tell myself when I am not writing. Things such as how I need to move on, let you go, give up the hope. It's the same old stuff I've been saying to myself for months now, things I've written about here. So much of my days are a struggle now that I am at the point of wanting to give up fighting against this too, on top of every thing else, and just accept that I will always love you. Maybe if I give up the fight, this longing with fade away on its own. Or maybe I'll end up the insane, delirious old man wandering some hospice talking about a woman I loved decades before. Who knows. I try to stop myself from thinking about you and it works for a little while, but then I always come back. I've tried to stop writing you twice now, and both times have failed. I try to pray for strength and guidance in my days and with my choices, and yet somehow always just end up asking the Maker to guide us back to each other. It seems pointless to fight it anymore. Especially when talking to this absent, imaginary version of you can be so comforting._

_In addition to these letters, I've begun keeping a log of my daily activities in order to try to isolate other triggers that bring about some of the worst effects. And my darling, it's so much worse than I was anticipating. Easily worse than the first time around, but it's already been twice as long as my first attempt, and I continue to incrementally lower my dose, so it shouldn't really be any surprise the the effects continue to escalate. But Maker, I have never experienced anything like these headaches. It's like I can't see or hear anything at all when I'm in the thick of it, am just blinded by pain. And then I come out of it and am told all these things that I have said… and sometimes I catch myself ranting and I don't even know what I am saying. Or, at least, it feels like I know what I'm saying while I'm saying it and then when I snap out of it I have no memory of why I said those things. It is deeply disturbing, like I am being controlled by some outside force. And the nightmares. I can't even begin with those. The feeling of being a puppet to an outside force combines with the memories of Uldred getting in my mind and it's just a whole new level of terror, worse than anything I have ever known. I keep hoping that I might adjust and things might improve but all my hopes seem to just be an exercise in futility._

_Do you remember how you used to comment on how my the skin around my eyes would get purple? I am glad you can't see me now. After weeks of so little sleep I look like a walking corpse, or so I am told. Thankfully Rylen and a few of the other men are rallying around me and helping out wherever they can. I truly don't know where I would be without them. This foolish endeavor of mine wouldn't be possible, that is a certainty._

_I continue to miss you. I walk past your house sometimes, and it always looks so… sad. The thought of prying one of the boards off a window and letting myself in has crossed my mind. But then I consider the consequences of being caught. The Knight-Commander found breaking into the Champion's old house just so he can wander around and reminisce? And maybe lay in your old bed for a while, if it's still there. Could you imagine what people would think if they were to find out? I'd be written off as stark raving mad for sure, and they wouldn't even know the half of it. It's enough to stop me from actually doing it, but I can't deny that I want to. Several new families have moved in to the houses nearby, the ones that were vacated last year. One that had been accidentally set on fire by squatters is now in full renovation mode and the owners are adding all sorts of gaudy features, things that look perfectly pointless to me. I look at it and imagine you will not be pleased either, especially having to live next to it. I assume they're Orlesian, based on the ridiculous amount of gold they are using._

_Now that things have settled down quite a bit here, Kirkwall has suddenly become a bit of hot spot. Travelers from far and wide want to see what has become of the Chantry site. It's still just an ugly, gaping wound in the ground, though much of the rubble has been moved out. It was clear the last time that I was walking around up there that many of the visitors make a point to stop by your house, too. They want to see the place owned by the mysteriously missing Champion of Kirkwall. Your legend has only grown around here, and the visitors especially seem to love hearing all the fanciful tales of your accomplishments. Someone from out of town once asked if I knew you, and since I was alone I ended up being honest. We must have talked for an hour, and the way she looked at me afterward, I'm certain she knew I was in love with you. Perhaps not the smartest move, but there are so few opportunities for me to indulge in that kind of conversation with you as the subject. It was nice, actually. And I felt no nervousness about it since she was slated to leave Kirkwall the next day. Even if she tells people about me, I am sure no one would believe her._

_I'm a little embarrassed to admit that I still have that pair of smalls that I ripped off you years ago. Maker, has it been years? Almost two, I guess. Anyway I don't really do anything with them but just let them sit in a drawer and taunt me. It's a bit ridiculous really. I wish I had something else of yours, something that didn't feel so inappropriate to hold and look at. Maybe if I ever… no, no I will not be breaking into your house. Maker's breath._

_Cullen_

 

 

Avery shivered as she looked at the next letter, feeling colder than she had even outside in the frosty air. He hadn't even bothered with addressing or closing it, and the page was scattered with scribbles and smeared marks. There was a big black blotch in the top right corner that looked like he had drawn something and then blacked it out again with multiple coats of ink. There was even a hole in the parchment at a place that he had written a word too hard. A shudder of anxiety raced through her as she took a deep breath, and began.

 

 

_I am sticking this one out, I am sticking this one out, I am sticking this one out. I am going to do it this time. Maker fucking damn it all, how long will this last? I have the box right here and I can't stop looking at it. The blue looks alive, like it's waving to me and calling my name. I don't want to hear this anymore, the way it sings, it sings I can always hear it but I can't send it away. I have to give it to the others. I can barely measure out the portions without spilling and breaking. And the looks they give me. It buzzes in my hand and it feels right, like it belongs there but wants to get closer, but I can't. I don't want it. I don't want it. Why can't I remember that? All the time, even when I lock it away._

_Your eyes are blue, but different. My two leashes, two sets of chains. One I want and one wants me and I can't I shouldn't I won't have either of you be the death of me. The things I should write are… not what I am writing. But it feels good to get it out. There is so much always on the tip of my tongue now that I can't say. Things that I say that I don't realize until I have someone staring back at me in confusion. And the pain. My head feels like it's breaking apart. Rylen worries, he's going to give me a rest. He's pushing me out of my office for a time, but I don't know what I am going to do. If I could just sleep, could remember why I am doing this instead of constantly hearing the dust calling calling shutup shut up shut up leave me_

_How can they do this? How can the Maker condone this? Every damned fucking liar in the Chantry should have to take lyrium and see for themselves. This is not what the Maker would want._


	17. Chapter 17

Regret weighed heavily on Avery for the entirety of the trip, just as it had in Crestwood. The brief reprieve while back with Cullen had been exhilarating, but in the quiet moments alone with his letters all she could feel was sadness and frustration, sitting heavy like a little boulder of lead at the bottom of her chest. Even when Cullen was wrapped up tightly in her arms during the night, even when they were passing each other a quiet look that said a million different adoring, grateful, joyful things, still it remained, tugging on her mind and dampening her mood. She kissed his brow, his eyelids, his cheeks, his fingertips, she kissed him furiously at every opportunity, touched him, doted on him, trying to make up for all the years he went without, all the years that a little gesture of kindness and support might have helped him and she hadn't been there to give it, and he seemed to soak it all up like the starved man that he was, or used to be, which only made her feel a little bit worse.

That last letter had been stashed back into the portfolio as her heart raced, as she resisted the desire to pull the caravan to a stop on the spot and run back out to him. Instead she waited, with her heart firmly blocking her throat, as hour after hour passed and slowly the group made their way toward their eventual camp. The next letters, the black letter in particular, loomed heavy and frightening, and she was equally as drawn to them as she was repelled. She needed to read them, she needed to _know_ , but the way his words affected her when they got so anguished, when they were so thick with suffering and pain, was overwhelming. And she realized that her distress was noticed by the two other very observant women she was sharing a wagon with. To continue in their presence would be to invite questions and concern, and she had no doubt Cullen would not want his private letters to be spoken about. Reading as much as she had planned was not going to be as easy as she'd hoped.

After they finally made camp she grabbed him at the first opportunity, pulling him into the forest and wrapping her arms around him, and, against every ounce of her self-control, began to cry. She apologized through hiccups and sobs, and told him she could hardly bear the letters and she kissed him and held him, and felt so selfish, so needy. It wasn't really about him, that she knew, it was about her. She tried to rein it in, tried not to burden him with her belated and overwhelming sorrow, not to smother him with acts of affection meant to assuage her own guilt, but she had no idea if her attempts at moderation succeeded. Her perspective seemed skewed, warped by the magnification of emotion, like trying to view the world through a glass of water. But he handled her tenderly, allowing her to let it all out until she was spent, recognizing her need to be comforted. If only there was some way to go back in time and be there for the man in the letters, to aid him in easing the suffering he endured, day after day, week after week, for _four bloody years_. And that just simply wasn't possible. Cullen had moved on, eventually, or so she still assumed, and now he had all the things he wrote that he longed for. He had her, completely and utterly, he had freedom, he had purpose, he had moved successfully past the worst of the lyrium withdrawals. They should be celebrating, she realized as tears streamed down her cheeks. And instead she was clinging to him while she cried.

On the horse things were a little different, and she resolved quickly to spend as much time there as they both could handle. She leaned back against his chest and they talked quietly about Kirkwall, his lips just inches away, crooning his smooth, pleasantly accented voice directly into her ear, and it was so close, so full of his breath, his essence, and little crackles of his personality that his words vibrated right through her like a balm for the soul. For hours they chatted on all the topics that they'd always meant to cover but rarely found the time to between kisses and lovemaking. They talked about his childhood and his siblings, about her childhood and her siblings, about their favorite books, about their old and new friends, about where they wanted to retire to someday, both of them choosing basically the same thing: a small house in the country, preferably on a hill and with a view of a wild valley. The silent moments were just as full, communicating with gestures and touches, light kisses and caresses. The hours passed too quickly there as the landscape slowly changed. The white of the mountain peaks turned to grey stone and then to brown brush and eventually to green. The green only got fuller and more dominant as they made their way into the Dales, eventually growing so lush and vivid as to be surreal.

Meanwhile the letters languished in the portfolio. She told herself she needed to persist onward with them, and she wanted to, truly, despite her knowledge that she would only be experiencing more second-hand suffering. But instead she spent every moment hovering around Cullen, showing him definitively in every way she could conceive to that she loved him, remembering the words her father had once said, years and years ago: "'Love' is a verb, my dear. It's an _action_. If it remains only a word spoken every now and again, it becomes meaningless." Never again would there be any room in his mind for doubt if she had her way.

It was especially hard to tear herself away to go read letters in a wagon when he was just so damned _available_. When they were galloping their way through the mountains on a horse he was not stuck in an office full of other men while she kept herself occupied in other parts of Skyhold, he was not constantly taking notes and letters from messengers, not rushing off to meetings and working so late that he missed meals. He was simply there, all day, ready and willing to talk, to hold her close, and seeming to enjoy the time together as much as she was.

But the last night at camp he fell quiet. He stayed close, one hand resting almost permanently on her hip while Anon watched them both with dark, unreadable eyes from across the fire.

"Are you okay, love?" she asked him softly while they sat hunched over bowls of rabbit stew. He smiled reassuringly at the question and nodded.

"I'm wonderful my darling," he responded under his breath. "I wish we could always travel this way." The warm glow of the fire made his eyes appear the same color as the flames, and the lines of his face were cast in delicate, dancing shadows. Avery fell into a sort of spell as she watched all those cherished features grow simultaneously softer and more defined. They'd been trying to restrain themselves when in the company of the whole party, knowing by all the sighs and eyerolls that everyone else was tiring of their stolen kisses and quiet laughter, and it only got harder to do as the fire warmed his skin and eyes with irresistible accents. Still something felt a little bit off. The trip hadn't been particularly stressful; indeed for them it had been downright pleasant. But perhaps the impending time with a bunch of nobles and Orlesians was heavy on his mind, or the prospect of her being gallivanted around on Anon's arm. She felt extra-self conscious of acting too much like a mother Hen, especially after her outburst on the first night, so she only looked at him quietly, letting him know in her way that she saw his silence, and that she was there with him, ready to offer anything he might need.

When the stew and wine was finished, he took her hand and quietly led her over to the tent they'd set up, just far enough outside the circle of others that they might not have to be too conscious about the sounds they made. It was just as much to accommodate their love making as it had been in the case of his nightmares, but he'd had none, or at least no more that bits of twitching and whimpering, which Avery had been able to calm almost as soon as it had began.

"These tents are starting to get to me, but it seems like the only place we really get any privacy," he said as he closed the flaps behind them. It was a spacious enough tent, certainly nothing like his makeshift quarters in the compound at Kirkwall, but they could both stand and move about without problem, and she'd already been surprised by how well he'd seemed to do within them. As soon as they were safely locked away within their canvas escape, he enclosed her in his arms, and she sank against the fluffy pauldrons and chest plate, her fingers habitually looking for clasps and bindings to undo.

"Have I told you lately that you're the most beautiful woman that I've ever seen?" he asked. She snorted, feeling her cheeks grow warm. "Even when your face is smudged with campfire ash, and your hair needs a good combing?"

"Well, I don't believe you've used those exact words," she answered happily as she ran her fingers through her hair. He was right that she definitely needed some cleaning up, and hoped that she might have an opportunity to bathe once they arrived at the Winter Palace the next day. They'd be staying there overnight and would be assigned quarters in which to prepare and retire to at the end of the evening, and it seemed unlikely that bathing would be ignored within that equation. But having never been to the Winter Palace before, she really had no idea what to expect. She sighed, her mind running over the plan for the next day as her fingers worked him over. Piece by piece his armor fell away, and in the dimness of the tent his eyes watched her like glowing coals, still seeming to contain of a flicker of something sad and serious, something that struck a note of worry in her.

"What is it, Cullen?" she asked finally, as his newly freed arms came around her again.

"I was… wondering…" he began. "Do you think… that when we get married, you might want to take my name? I would understand if you didn't, since there are no other Hawkes to carry on…"

Her breath hitched in her throat. There'd been no real mention of marriage since their reunion, not since they bought the rings years ago. The rings they still wore on the appropriate fingers.

"I figured I'd combine them, though I'm not sure if I like Hawke-Rutherford or Rutherford-Hawke," she answered, revealing her own little secret, which was that she'd already given his question a bit of thought on her own. His eyes seemed to grow dark and wide, and she was certain she saw the faintest shadow of a smile. "But now that I say it out loud, I believe I'll probably go with Hawke-Rutherford, so that your name is the one that… sort of lingers in the memory."

"That sounds… perfect," he said, raising a hand to caress her cheek, but his eyes remained worrisome.

"That can't be what is troubling you, can it?" she asked. He laughed softly.

"Why are you so certain something is troubling me?"

"I don't know, love… I can feel it," she answered. "How did you know I was scared in the chamber before we left?"

"You mean besides the fact that you were white as a sheet and trying your best to become one with the wall?"

She laughed heartily, "you're exaggerating!"

"I assure you my love, I am not," he said and she let her cheek rest fully against his palm, savoring the warmth of his touch. "I thought I might have to scrape you off that stone with a chisel. I couldn't have been more surprised when you actually agreed to ride with me."

She laughed some more as she brought her face close to his. His hair smelled like campfire smoke, and he had a light layer of grit along the back of his neck, all things to be expected after three days of riding and camping. The grit didn't feel much different on her fingers than the healthy layer of stubble did, and besides, what did it matter when he still smelled so damned good.

But her smile began to fade as she realized what a good job he was doing at avoiding answering her question. It was a tactic she knew well.

"If you don't feel like talking about it I can accept that," she said, "but I do hope you'll let me know if there is ever anything I can do to help. You don't ever need to endure anything alone again, Cullen."

He was quiet for a long moment, the air between them growing thick with whatever was going unsaid, words she desperately wanted him to speak. But if he was not ready to, then pressuring him wouldn't help.

"Yes," he said eventually, "I do know that. It's still a little difficult to believe sometimes, but I do believe it."

"Good."

After removing their boots Cullen swept her up into his arms with a dramatic flourish, walking the three steps to their combined bedrolls and lowering her down gently, "allow me to assist you to your bed, my lady," he said with complete seriousness, causing her to giggle. Maker how she loved those moments he turned a little silly.

"Why thank you kind sir," she said in her best impression of nobility, "While I have your assistance, might I bother you to help me remove my clothing?"

"Well that depends, Messere. Do you want to keep these clothes?"

"As much as I might enjoy such a display of brute strength, I'm afraid I do need to keep these particular items intact"

"Very well," he said with a slight bow.

She smiled up at his shadow as her hands found the bottom of his tunic and slipped beneath, connecting with the blazing hot skin of his abdominals, the sharp jut of his hip, tracing the outlines of each well-developed muscle as she worked her way up his chest. While making love the first few nights had been quick and conventional, both of them trying to stay as cocooned away from the frigid mountain air as possible, now that they were in the grasslands of the Dales, the air was comfortable. It would be the first night during the travel that keeping warm outside the bedrolls would no longer be a concern.

"Speaking of ripping clothing," she said as she tugged on his tunic, threatening to remove it for him

In a blink he'd pulled it over his head, and the dark shadow before her was now sharper, more defined, and as breathtaking as ever. Her legs always went completely weak whenever he towered over her as he was, looking so strong and solid and in control. She almost shuddered in anticipation.

Her clothes were all gone much faster than she expected, caught as she was within a sudden, lustful daze.

"So, teacher, I am ready for my next lesson, if you have one," he said, a smirk audible in his voice.

"You do know we both desperately need to bathe?" she said with a gentle laugh. "And that the whole camp is still awake, and only a few meters away."

"Yes. So?" he said, his hulking silhouette giving a slight shrug.

"So, many of the lessons I have in mind for you, one in particular, would be ones in which a certain amount of… _sound proofing_ would be called for."

"Oh, is that right?" he asked, his voice reduced to a smoky growl as he lowered himself to his hands and knees and crawled slowly over her. She was pushed back as he advanced, her breath leaving her lungs completely as his silhouette smothered out the last vestiges of light she could see. Almost instantly she felt her thighs grow slick with wanting, ready to surrender herself to the man before her.

"Well, may I make a suggestion?" he asked as he hovered over her, his breeches standing forward in an impressively large bulge. "Or… since you like it when I am in control, perhaps I will make it a demand…"

"Yes," she gasped, her arousal only growing as the strength in his voice emerged, "whatever you want my love."

"That's right, you will take whatever I give you and you will love it, won't you, naughty girl?" he teased. She heard a confident wickedness in his taunt that was brand new, and it was thrilling. She collapsed back onto the bedroll completely, her muscles suddenly quivering with the need for him to take her completely, to own her.

"Yes, Commander," she panted, feeling her heart quicken, her breaths coming deeper and more urgent, as though she kept forgetting to breathe.

"Good. Then get up," he said as he pulled himself away, standing to remove his breeches, kicking them down his legs. She forced herself upright on shaky muscles, legs that felt on the verge of collapse from desire.

"On your knees, face away from me."

She obeyed, realizing as she turned that she was grinning giddily. He hadn't said 'hands and knees' so she remained in a kneel, her sex beginning to throb with anticipation, but she ignored it and waited patiently

But there was no stopping the groaning sigh that escaped her throat when he dropped behind her, his legs on either side of her own, the scorching wall of his chest and his protruding cock suddenly pressed up behind her. His hands slid languorously around to her belly and then up to her breasts, massaging and cupping while pinching at her nipple.

"You seem to like when I pinch these rather hard," he said quietly into her ear. "Is that right?"

She nodded, collapsing back into him as he rolled the tips of her nipples between his fingers, biting into them just hard enough to send a bolt of electricity down into her core.

"You'd think it would hurt," he said.

"It does," she confirmed. "But it feels good too." His cock rested perfectly within the crease of her buttocks and she pressed back against it, encouraging him to slide his length up and down. She wanted to moan, but remembered just in time that she needed to be quiet, as they both stilled as the quiet whisper of footsteps in the grass approached. As far as their tent was from the other tents, it was still close enough to the campfire to be able to hear much of what was being spoken if they listened hard enough, and someone was definitely walking directly toward them.

"Hey, do you two want any more of this stew, or should we let Bull finish it off?" came a voice, one of the guards, clearly not even considering that they might have retired for the night.

"He can have it," Cullen called back as one of his hands left her breast and trailed lightly down her torso. "We're done. We'll see everyone in the morning."

"Alright," answered the voice, belonging to one of the guards, and the steps retreated again. "'Night Commander."

He sighed in relief as the steps retreated, but his body continued its work, his hips grinding against her buttocks, a finger brushing gently between her lips and finding the wetness that had come so quickly once he'd taken control.

"Maker," he groaned under his breath, "so wet already?"

He pushed his finger in more deeply, slowly penetrating until he was buried to the knuckle. It didn't compare to his cock, but when he curled his finger in just the right way it struck a spot that sung out with a satisfying peal. She pressed herself back against him again, squeezing his cock against her ass.

"You do seem to know what I am thinking…" he remarked. Three days of that voice in her ear, and only some of the time had it sounded as sultry and seductive as it did now. It was an instrument of sex all by itself.

"Do you remember that time you let me… make love to your bottom?" he asked, for a moment slipping back into the daytime, slightly embarrassed Cullen. She couldn't help but let out a little laugh.

"I do. And wow do you make that act sound so… polite," she teased quietly.

"Oh? I'm sorry, would you like me to be more vulgar about it?" he asked.

"Yes, actually. Do your worst, Commander."

"Alright, do you remember that time you let me fuck you in your beautiful, exquisite ass?" he said, his voice growing throaty, as though saying the very words had been just as arousing for him. She almost moaned again, feeling her heart beat wildly against her chest. It sounded extra sinful coming from him, a man with a bearing that spoke 'Chantry' with every movement, a voice that seemed almost tortured just to say the words. But there was no denying the lusty beast that she already knew lurked dark and powerful beneath his composed exterior.

"Yes," she panted, breathlessly.

"I've half a mind to do that again," he said, "especially since you… seem to want it."

She clenched her hips, squirming her thighs tightly closed in the absence of penetration. She wanted him to keep talking, wanted to hear that voice saying as many salacious words as he knew, but she also wanted him to fuck her already.

"I do. If it is your demand, then you should be satisfied. My body is yours to take however you would like, Commander."

"And you _want_ me to?" he asked, his own voice coming breathless, his cock practically throbbing against her.

"I do. I like it."

He growled in response, a rumble so low and breathy she felt as much as heard it, and he slipped a hand between them, pushing her away just long enough to angle his cock downward between her cheeks. She rose up as much as she could, helping the broad cockhead to find its way to the sensitive opening and stay steady.

"Go slow," she whispered as she swirled circles against the buzzing entrance, her body on fire to have him inside her. She couldn't stop herself from clenching and unclenching in anticipation, her mind ready much more quickly than she knew her body would be. So she kept her direction slow, squeezing the thick shaft of his cock as she helped it slide against her sensitive places. Her aching pearl pulsed and throbbed, and she almost thanked him when his hand reached around and found its way back there, landing exactly where she needed it to.

"Yes," he panted, his breath hot in her ear as his mouth found her earlobe, closing hard and hot around it as his hips continued to pulse, his fingers digging into her waist. "Avery… the things you make me want…. things I didn't even know I _could_ want…"

She smiled to herself as she pressed back a little further, feeling the slight burst of intensity as he broke all the way through, his cockhead fully entering her rear. She gasped loudly at the sensation, her body singing with a deliciously carnal need that was so overpowering it bordered pain.

"Yes," he sighed as his hand dragged up her chest, reaching her neck and closing around it. She tilted her head back, relishing the warm feeling of his hand completely circling her throat. She knew he could squeeze the life of of her with just a bit of pressure in the right place. He would never in a million years do such a thing, of that there was no doubt, but there was something exciting about feeling so vulnerable, so completely at the mercy of such controlled strength. His hand didn't linger at her throat, but grasped her jaw delicately, turning her head to capture her mouth with his.

He kept her steady with firm but gentle direction, and slowly they worked their way closer, his cock reaching further and further into her depths until the hot base of him pressed into the softness of her cheeks. She felt torn open in the most erotic way, her body reduced to a sparking live wire on the verge of explosion. She fought her body's urge to withdraw to save itself, and just breathed through the intensity, certain that any moment real electricity might start streaming through her veins. Resting inside her as he was, it seemed she felt every solid inch of him, every vein and curve, all stinging pleasantly into her as her body slowly relaxed around him.

When the time was right, she nudged him into movement, her hips gently bucking, sliding back and forth along his cock while trying to keep her breathing quiet. His arms wrapped fully around her, enclosing her in warmth and bulges of firm muscle as his breath came jagged and tortured in her ear.

"Oh fuck," he whispered as they moved slowly together, the friction so intense as to be overwhelming. On impulse she spit in her hand and reached between them, applying an extra dose of moisture to the base of his cock.

Even his movements felt amplified, every drag of his cock resounding powerfully through her body, hitting a deep spot of sensitivity that caused her to need to catch her breath. He kept a hand heavy over her chest, keeping her movements slow and calm, synchronizing with his, while he hissed and breathed his restraint into her ear.

As quickly as she was relaxed around him, the sensation of being filled so completely, of knowing that he was partly being pleasured by the naughtiness of the act, had her struggling to keep herself quiet and contained. To feel him thrusting into her, long stroke after long stroke, just on the verge of pulling out completely and then plunging fully back in and landing against an aching core that seemed be shared with her cunt, it made her bite back a hiss, made her hips squirm and gyrate, trying to entice him to move harder, deeper. He shushed into her ear, gently urging her to be quiet, laughing softly as he struggled to do the same, and all she could do was drop forward and still her body, trying to calm the raging waters that were completely blotting out her ability to think or reason. His strong hands gripped her hips and continued to thrust, in smooth strokes that slowed just enough to prevent the sound of flesh clapping together, but that pulled bolts of ecstatic pleasure from her nerves and sent them traveling in waves over her skin.

She arched her back and chewed her lip, seeing quickly that there was little hope of her remaining quiet on her own. She collapsed even further forward, grabbing onto the pillow below her and biting into it, looking to smother the cries that pried themselves from her throat against her will. A hot hand slid up her back and she was suddenly on her side, Cullen maneuvering a leg over his so that he was kneeling between hers, scissoring in a way that landed each blow to her ass more deeply than ever.

Her fingers went numb with the force of clutching the pillow, her stifled moans muffled and weak while his own breathing came heavy and raspy. The voices of the camp party were still murmuring close but indistinctive, drowned out by the pounding of her own heart in her ears, the straining of her lungs that made her feel like her chest was breaking open. 

She bit back a scream as the movements of his hips whipped her body into a frenzy. In her mind she could see them, lean and carved, rolling, curling toward her again and again, anchoring that lovely, thick cock that had come to satisfy her in ways she'd never felt before, aching with the building need to spill his seed, the root of him against the root of her, feral and wild and operating solely on instinct.

He shushed her again as she realized her breaths had turned to high pitched keens, carrying over the barrier of the pillow, and even as he urged restraint his hands held her tightly and his thrusts offered no reprieve. She pressed her face into the pillow even harder and quickly felt the peaking tension in his hips. But before he could finish, he fell to the ground, coming undone for a brief moment while he spooned up behind her, his prominent cock searching for reentry.

She was pulled firmly into his chest and swallowed up into his flesh once again, his lips resuming their place behind her ear, nibbling and suckling her neck, her earlobe, the curve of her jaw. The speed of his thrusts increased with a calculated burst of force and she beared down into him, her whole body not climbing up to a peak only to descend again, but seeming to live on the peak, to inhabit a pinpoint at the apex of all sensation, drawn out into one eternal crescendo that reverberated down into the furthest reaches of her body. It was only enhanced by the audible pleasure of the man clinging desperately to her, gasping and whimpering, flaying her open with his very self as he pounded at her limits, emptying himself in shudders of ecstatic release.

It seemed as they lay in recovery that her heartbeat was the loudest thing in existence. Surely everyone over at the campfire could hear it, hammering on as it was, drowning out the quiet drone of voices and crackling flames as it tried to make its escape from her chest. Cullen's body stayed close but relaxed back into his daze, and finally when the roaring of her heart began to subside, she heard the regular rushing of his breathing as it slowed, evening out into a familiar rhythm.

A dowsing of water from the canteen and the use of a few fresh cloths handled a quick cleanup, and together they collapsed back against the ground, Avery falling against his bare chest, his arms waiting as they always were, ready to welcome her back into the little nook against his heart. She drifted off to sleep with his pulse keeping time against her back, and her mind practicing introducing herself with her new surname.

 

 

 

When Cullen burst up from sleep, Avery wasn't sure if she wasn't just having her own nightmare. The snapping of a sold mass making an impact against tightly pulled canvas was unnaturally piercing in her ears, and it took a moment for her to fully cast off the illusory cloak of sleep. It wasn't until Cullen stepped hard on her knee and she cried out in pain, barely able to hear herself over the anguished voice already dominating the space, that she realized it wasn't her own dream. Instantly she was awake and terrified, and she cast her eyes about in the darkness to search for the silhouette of Cullen. She found him on the other side of the tent, a great mass of shadow clutching a tent wall with a heaving chest, giving every impression of being a wild animal caught in a small cage.

Murmurs from the camp fired up again, and within moments a dull glow came from somewhere outside, slowly getting brighter as it moved toward the tent. Cullen's eyes were wild and gaping, still seeming to see whatever pictures were playing in his mind.

She rose to a stand and almost fell as her knee tried to collapse beneath her, a bolt of searing pain screaming up her leg, but she hissed it back and made herself focus on Cullen, giving him a moment, hoping he was in the midst of waking on his own.

"Is everything okay?" asked Solas from the source of the glowing light. "Do you need any help?"

She heard whispers, voices lowered and worried. He must have woken a good portion of the camp, and sounded concerning enough for them to come immediately.

"No," she called back, her voice cracking. She tried to blink the remains of the sleep away. Either she'd been in an extremely deep sleep, or his nightmare had come hard and fast, slamming into him with no warning. He was blinking too, but where he looked was unknown, his face just a collection of shadows within the dim light. But he wasn't moving, didn't seem to still be panicking. His arms, holding himself outspread against the tent wall, slowly slipped

"No, thank you," she called out again. "Sorry to disturb you. We've got it under control," she said, certain that the shakiness in her voice was clear for them all to hear.

With the last words Cullen seemed to snap out of it, his face turning toward hers as his body almost collapsed beneath him. She instinctively tried to go to him, but her knee gave out, something hurting in a way that she could tell would have been a big problem had she not been a healer. She cried out in pain as she fell straight down, landing on her butt on top of the bedrolls.

"Are you sure?" called Anon, his voice tinged with a note of impatience. "What is going on in there? Did he hurt you?"

"No, no, nothing like that," she called, her own impatience with such a suggestion making itself known. Her brain still felt half asleep, and was not ready to have questions barked at her that she truly had no idea how to answer. She gingerly searched over her leg, opening her mind to the fade to grasp a skein of mana and pushing it into her knee. The aura of magic communicated an overextension, as well as a chipped knee cap, and she felt her concentration waver as Cullen lowered himself beside her, his hands seeking her body, his voice whispering apologies.

Nearby she heard more movement, more voices added to the chorus of questions about the screaming, of whether everything was alright. She tried to ignore them all, holding fast to the working magic as it set her knee right again. As the warmth ebbed in, the pain drained out and she realized somewhere along the way she was rocking, holding her leg and waiting for the excruciating pain to disappear completely, needing to get it done so she could turn her attention elsewhere.

What she came to once the healing was finished was Cullen shaking and clammy as he sat worried beside her, his face hanging low as he squeezed at his brow. She reassured him that she was okay, brushing aside his concerns as she looked him over and took his hands into her own, finding herself shocked at how icy cold they were. Even after she tried to rub some warmth back into them, and felt his body loosen a little bit more, she still felt the low frequency vibrations of his anxiety coursing under his skin, rattling his very bones with shivers.

"Cullen," she whispered, "are you okay?"

"I'm sorry," he gasped repeatedly, "I didn't mean to hurt you, I'm so sorry."

She pulled him back down into their bedding, her mind reeling to process the last few minutes. One moment she'd been asleep, and the next she was being trampled by what felt like a raging bull. It hurt her heart to think how real his dreams must have seemed, how so perfectly like all the suffering he'd endured that it convinced him completely that it was happening again, sending him into such a wild, uncontrolled panic. She pulled him fully into her arms, and he obeyed her urging gratefully, resting his head over her breast, clutching hard at her while his body shook. She wrapped herself around him and held him tightly, trying to keep her own body calm as it rest against his, providing direction and regulation for his own. She stroked gently through his hair while her stomach ached, pulling herself away from sleep for the rest of the dark morning hours, ready at the first sign that his nightmare was returning to do whatever needed to be done to soothe him.


	18. Chapter 18

Avery tried her best not to fall asleep as Josephine pulled and twisted on strands of hair, tying them into an elaborate crown around the top rear of her head. She stifled a yawn, her eyes watering and threatening to smudge the kohl that lined her lids, one of several little touches that Josephine had insisted upon. The ambassador was so excited to help Avery get dressed for the ball that Avery shrugged and handed her free rein, figuring the woman probably knew far more about makeup and hair than she did anyway. Not that she even had the energy to figure it out herself. After laying awake watching over Cullen through the wee hours of the morning, with only a fitful nap taken in a wagon on the way into the palace, Avery felt as though she could drop off into unconsciousness at any moment. She was beginning to fear that it was going to be a very long night.

"I must admit to having been quite shocked at the news that you'd be attending with Mahanon and not Cullen," Josie mused as she worked, her slender fingers turning Avery's lanky black ropes into braids so perfect and shiny they seemed like hair belonging to someone else. "I can imagine our Commander was just as surprised. Though he doesn't appear to be harboring any grudges about it, at least not beyond their usual… disagreements."

"Well I wasn't given much choice. I guess I didn't have to obey what Anon ordered, but many have concerns about me and Cullen. Including Cullen," she sighed. "I'm just trying not to piss too many people off."

Josie laughed as she gave a lock of hair a sharp tug, twisting it expertly around her fingers, "I do not envy your position, but you seem to be shouldering it well."

"Well the hard part has barely even begun, right?"

"Indeed. I assume you've been briefed about what to expect? You will not be introduced officially to the Empress as a member of the Inquisition, since technically you are not, but being the Champion certainly affords you a bit of… shall we say  _fluidity_. You're just as good as being a member even if you do not hold an official title, and being on Mahanon's arm only affirms that," she said. "You are under no obligations to do anything other than enjoy yourself, but the things you do and say will still reflect upon the Inquisition, so please bear that in mind."

Avery nodded with a sigh, "of course." It was nothing she wasn't expecting to hear.

"I am sure I do not need to tell you to be discreet about your relationship with Cullen, which would certainly cause quite an uproar among those familiar with your histories. Also," Josie sighed heavily, and Avery's eyes flicked up to watch as the woman's brows furrowed in worry, "it is possible that you might encounter people who hold  _strong_  opinions about what happened to the Chantry in Kirkwall, and the resulting feud between the mages and the Templars. It is best not to engage these people. Just smile politely and find a way to make an escape."

"Alright," said Avery. "Got it."

With a few final yanks, Avery's head came free from Josie's grasp.

"There we are," she cooed with a satisfied grin, "perfect."

Avery and stood and walked over to the mirror in the corner of Josie's room to give herself a final appraisal. The deep crimson of the dress did indeed make her skin look extra pale and creamy, but Josie had applied a light touch of pink to her cheeks to give her a bit of color, and a silver chain holding a light blue jewel that hung just below her throat. "It might not go great with the dress, but it does go perfectly with your eyes," she had said. Josie had cautioned against too much color on her lips, as combined with the kohl it could give the effect of her makeup being too heavy, and Avery agreed, going with a gloss that was only lightly tinted with the same red as her dress. She shrugged at her reflection.

"This looks good enough, right?" she asked.

The ambassador laughed loudly as she shook her head. "Good enough is an understatement my dear. I am sure your Commander will regret ever letting Mahanon claim you as his date."

Avery shrugged again, turning to admire the way the dress made her waist look so slender, and how the neckline opened up to let her shoulders breathe, yet wasn't so low cut as to give much of a glimpse of what lay beneath. Her arms were bare, and Avery figured everyone would just have to ignore the three parallel scars that sliced across her upper arm, cuts from a particularly nasty swipe from a rage demon in Kirkwall. The back was low, but tailored specifically to hide the gnarly scar leftover from the fight with the Arishok. The skirt fell full and soft against her legs, brushing lightly over the tops of her feet as she walked. She'd followed the basic construction for that mage's robe when she gave directions to Bonny, requesting a tight bodice that provided a little bit of lift, yet wasn't so constricting as to feel like a corset. So far everything felt perfectly comfortable, and she made a mental note to let Bonny know how pleased she was with her work.

Josie breathed a wistful sigh as she admired Avery, "I wish I could wear a dress."

"Why can't you?"

"Oh we all agreed on these suits… they're not particularly flattering, but it's… well, we're supposed to be making a statement," she explained.

"A statement?" Avery walked over to the flawless white sofa, feeling almost afraid to sit on it for fear of scuffing it somehow. Her own room was furnished in much the same way, with a lavish, four poster bed, a nook containing the large tub she had thoroughly enjoyed soaking in, and a separate sitting area with a sofa, a few chairs and a table. All the rooms had large windows and double glass doors leading out into a lush courtyard that held a fountain and impeccably maintained gardens. They'd given Avery and Cullen separate rooms, but she had no doubt one of the rooms would be going unoccupied, even if they had to wait until the late night hours to make their move.

"Yes," Josie continued. "A statement that we are here for business, and not pleasure," she sighed again as she looked longingly up and down Avery's dress, "For the Inquisition, we all make sacrifices."

 

 

 

Forty minutes prior to their scheduled entrance, Josie and Avery exited the glass door to the courtyard, seeing that Leliana was out there having what looked to be a very serious discussion with a messenger. Avery eyed the impressive facade that lined the square courtyard, an expansive wing that towered three stories overhead, with greenery spilling over the gilded balcony ledges that lined each upper floor. The air smelled like Prophet's Laurel and was filled with the soft rushing of the fountain water. All of the Inquisition party's rooms were on the ground floor, and each next to the other, but Avery realized as she scanned the walkway that bordered the courtyard patios that she had no idea which room was Cullen's. From the moment they had entered the Palace's outer gates, the two of them were to behave as associates and friends, doing and saying as little as possible to raise any eyebrows or stir up rumors, and the task was already irritating. She had flashes of Kirkwall every time she thought about the things she wouldn't be able to say to him, the way she'd have to hold back from the little tokens of affection that had already grown into a habit. They'd walked in far apart, and said very little as they were escorted to the guest wing by a small contingent of diplomats and their elven servants, and she hadn't seen him since she was left off at her room while he continued down the hall, lost within a throng of other people.

He was around somewhere, she told herself as she eyed the patio doors. Some of the windows were covered in white curtains, some were black with dim space that revealed nothing of what, or who lurked within. She also still had yet to see Bull or Vivienne, though she hadn't exactly missed their presence either.

Avery had been told that she would enter behind Anon and Gaspard, and that either Josie or Leliana could stand beside her. The entrance was important, she was told; it set the tone for the whole evening.

She was standing among the grass, having tuned out Leliana and Josie's usual business chatter, when Mahanon joined them, appearing at her rear without the slightest sound. His dark eyes were bright and wide as he gave Avery a reverent bow and kissed the top of her hand, offering a profusion of compliments that she barely heard. As nice as they were, they were not coming from the person she truly cared about. She smiled politely, blushed and offered her thanks, all the while her eye was searching the closed doors of the other rooms, waiting with her breath in her throat for Cullen to finally make his appearance.

He wasn't there when the messenger finally came to escort them toward the main courtyard. He wasn't there when Josie pulled Anon aside for a little pep talk before they made their official entry. Bull and Vivienne had made their appearance, trailing behind the rest of the group and seemingly lost in conversation, which Avery found an amusing development. As they finally joined the group, she was certain she'd heard the hulking Qunari refer to the mage as "ma'am". They made the first of several entrances finally, walking into a courtyard filled with fountains, obsessively pruned landscaping and costumed bodies. She'd stopped immediately and had begun scanning the crowd when she heard Josie's voice in her ear.

"Don't worry, Hawke. Cullen is very punctual. He will be where he needs to be when it is his time."

Avery took a deep breath and tried to relax. Of course he would be. If only he hadn't been so quiet when they were packing up camp that morning. If only she'd had more time to talk to him before all the craziness began, she might a little more at ease herself. The purple bruising on her knee, which was revealed when she stripped before her bath, had brought her straight back to that disorienting moment of panic after he'd woken from his nightmare in the tent, and thrashed about like a wild man, and the memory only stirred up new flutters of worry. She'd tried to tell herself that it was inevitable that he'd get a little stressed from all the travel, even as enjoyable as it might have been riding together on the horse. Travel is just inherently stressful regardless of the circumstances and there was no getting around that. And she struggled to quiet the niggling of intense concern as Cassandra's words of warning rang in her ear, particularly the part about him suffering silently, completely unbeknownst to anyone else. He'd resisted talking about whatever was on his mind the night before, and it occurred to her for the first time that maybe Cullen wouldn't tell even her if he was experiencing pain or other effects. Maybe he'd try not to trouble her, or maybe it simply wouldn't be easy to bring up. Cullen never complained about much of anything, and surely that was a deeply ingrained habit by now, one that it wouldn't even occur to him to try to break. She sighed and tried to relax the rigid frown out of her brows, tried to resist indulging in all the new fears that continued to creep in the longer she let herself linger in thought.

The main courtyard in front of the palace entry was as lavish and elaborate as she imagined it would be, but despite its beauty she was quickly reminded of how uncomfortable being around a crowd of Orlesians in masks made her. Some of the masks obscured the face enough to make it difficult to tell who the person was even looking at, and she had the feeling of being watched by hundreds of hidden eyes. Avery made polite introductions with those who approached her, trying her hardest to meet the gaze of the person behind the masks and not just look at the mask itself, while Josie and Leliana wandered around, and Mahanon disappeared with a wink and a promise to return soon.

There was an extra layer of uneasiness added by the fact that no one else there was wearing a dress even remotely like Avery's. The fashion in Orlais still clearly included frills and lace, full skirts and an overabundance of accessories, though she couldn't help but shudder at the thought of trying to put on one of those complicated ensembles. If she tried, she'd surely get something wrong, put a piece on the incorrect way, or give up halfway through and end up a laughingstock. Shit, with her own dress so contrary to popular fashion she might already be a laughing stock.

Again she reminded herself that it didn't matter what the others there thought. She might technically be Anon's date, but it was Cullen she was there for. It was only Cullen whose opinion she really cared about.

She was looking down at her reflection in the still waters of a fountain when she finally heard him, clearing his throat pointedly behind her to get her attention. She felt a little disappointed as she turned around, wanting to feel his hands on her in the way of his usual greeting, but knowing that he would need to keep his distance, that she couldn't rush to him and try to get a reading on where his head was. But at least he was there, standing tall and stunning in an impeccably tailored suit, his broad chest and shoulders filling out the sharp lines and angles of the coat as perfectly as if he'd been born to wear it. For a moment she felt slightly woozy, all the blood seeming to drain from her head as she looked at him. She was used to the big pauldrons now, the leather pants and shiny metal that was his usual outfit. But standing against a lush green backdrop, cutting the sharp figure of an important man in a perfectly fitted uniform, she had to make an effort to close her gaping mouth and not openly gawk at him, realizing in the process that she was missing his reaction to her.

But whatever his reaction might have been, he was keeping it perfectly concealed. Aside from the curious combination of having both gone completely pale and a little pink at the same time, mixed with eyes that seemed to be all pupil, he looked just like any normal man who hated parties, wearing a placid mask of forced tolerance, with his posture betraying a slight hint of stiffness.

She reminded herself that all those years in Kirkwall, he stood just like this in the Gallows, apparently admiring and desiring her, and all the while she nor anyone else ever had any idea. He was excruciatingly good at playing the hardened, unaffected soldier. It was likely that she had no clue what the true extent of his reaction was.

"I must say, you are the most stunning creature here," she said quietly as she gave him a sheepish grin. He snorted, his cheeks turning a little more pink than they already were. Her hands flew up to her hair to check her braids, and then smoothed the fabric over her hips where dresses tended to wrinkle if one sat in them for too long. She almost wiped her eyes, but remembered the kohl at the last minute and pulled her fingers away. Somehow, in the space of a few seconds she'd become unbearably self conscious, wondering if she'd dressed all wrong. Maybe she should have given more thought to fitting in with the Orlesian fashions. Maybe she should have seen if she could have worn one of those suits. At least then she'd be in pants, and wouldn't have to worry about trying not to trip over her skirt.

Cullen opened his mouth for a moment as though he was going to speak, and then closed it again, swallowing heavily. He was standing stock still, and the only indicator of his thought was something in his gaze that made her feel as though she was standing there completely naked, which only served to increase the self-consciousness.

She shook her head, trying to push away all the doubtful thoughts. Cullen had liked that robe, that is what he wrote. He said he never noticed clothes before, but he noticed that one. And this dress… well it was close enough.

"Excuse me ser?" came a voice, cutting through the low din of chatter surrounding them. Avery saw no one standing close enough that that could have been addressing either of them, but it was hard to see much of anything besides Cullen's narrow waist and perfectly angular jaw. In fact the more she looked, the more enhanced all of his best features seemed. The low light made his skin glow with a golden smoothness, softening the line of his scar and preventing shadows from collecting in his worry lines. His lips remained as luscious as ever, taunting Avery with its delectable cupid's bow curve, lips she would not be kissing again until the night was over. At least, not unless she could find a place for them to sneak away to. Yes, that is exactly what she needed to do, at the very first opportunity.

"Commander Cullen?" the voice came again, much louder this time. He snapped to attention, turning around slightly to see a man standing just behind him, dressed in an official looking uniform that identified him as a messenger.

Cullen cleared his throat before answering, but his voice still cracked, "Yes? What is it?"

"A bird came with a message. It's addressed to you," he said, and held out a small scroll. Cullen took it with a frown and thanked the man before he turned to retreat back toward the towering palace doors. He raised an eyebrow to Avery and swallowed, while his fingers fumbled to break the seal of the scroll and unfurl the small strip of paper.

Avery couldn't help but notice how his hands shook as he ran his fingertips along the scroll, trying to locate the top edge of the page. Feeling a pang of concern, both for him and for whatever was urgent enough that it warranted sending a bird to the Palace in the middle of a ball, she took several steps closer, careful not to hover too close, keeping her body turned slightly away and her hands clasped behind her back to prevent them from wandering to places they should not go.

Cullen's frown deepened as he squinted at the shaky scroll of paper in his hand. He blinked hard and looked around.

"I… can you… can you read it for me?" he asked nervously.

"Of course," she responded, a stab of dread piercing through her chest. There was nothing wrong with his vision, that she knew. Could he not hold the page still enough? She paused for a second, taking a moment to observe him closely. Just standing there and not moving he looked fine, mostly. But there was clearly something happening underneath for him to be shaking like that. Was it nerves? Was it her? Or the dress? Was it something worse?

Before she could unfurl the scroll herself, Anon sidled up to her.

"There you are, darling," he cooed into her ear, one hand landing lightly on the small of her back.

"Here I am," she confirmed flatly as she located the top edge of the scroll and began to pull it open. She was interrupted by Leliana, joining the group in a rush.

"It would be better read that  _later_ , Hawke," she said firmly, casting Avery a pointed stare. Avery froze for a moment, startled by the urgency in Leliana's hushed request, and let the scroll close.

"What is it?" asked Anon, his hand reaching out to take the small paper. Leliana stopped his hand with her own. "It's a message, I just heard about it from one of my people. But please Mahanon, wait until the ball is done. Reading what's in this message will only make this night much more difficult for you."

There was a note of something incredibly worrying in Leliana's voice, and Avery moved to pull away, intending to secure the scroll in the palm of her hand, but in a flash, the scroll was gone. Anon had used his other hand with lightning speed, snatching it away faster than she could even register his movement.  _Damned rogues,_ she thought with a sigh _._

The fright on the usually unperturbed woman's face as she watched Anon open the scroll made Avery's breath catch in her throat. Anon read the letter quietly, his brows furrowing as his eyes scanned back and forth, back and forth, and then stopped when they reached the end of the text. His lips parted with a sharp intake of breath, and for a long, infinite moment he just stood there, not making a move, not saying a word. Avery's heart began to hammer as she looked frantically between Anon, Cullen, Leliana, while a somber heaviness settled over the group. She was dying to know what was in the message, but was also afraid to learn the details.  _More damned complications._

Anon's hands quivered as he handed the scroll back to Avery, barely waiting for her to grasp it herself before he had already turned to walk away without a word. Leliana followed behind him, sprinting to catch up, and seeming to be attempting to whisper over his shoulder while he increased his speed and tried to wave her away, retreating to a dark, corner section of courtyard. A hush of whispers around them made it clear that many of those nearby had noticed the incident.

"What is it?" Cullen asked, his voice coming raspy and worried. "What does it say?" She quickly unfurled the scroll, her own fingers shaking now, and began to read quietly aloud.

"Commander Cullen, our forces marched upon Wycome, but even with many of their soldiers weakened by the sickening effects of the red lyrium, they had a significant standing army. The fighting was bloody, and fires started by the battle spread throughout much of the city, costing the lives of many citizens," she began, and then stopped to clear her throat, her mouth suddenly feeling incredibly dry. She swallowed hard and continued on."We destroyed the red lyrium, but were forced to retreat after doing so. The remaining forces of Wycome did not pursue us, but fell upon Clan Lavellan in their rage. I regret to inform you that the Dalish clan was entirely destroyed."

Cullen groaned quietly, and Avery stopped to process the words. Clan Lavellan. Mahanon's clan. It would have contained his family, friends, everyone he'd ever known in his life.  _Entirely destroyed?_

When she finished off the last few lines she barely sounded like herself. "I recommend the Inquisition withdraw from the area. While reports of our activities are scattered and contradictory, it can only hurt the Inquisition's reputation to continue making enemies in the Free Marches. Lieutenant Rozzellene Chamb…" she stopped and swallowed again, her throat feeling parched. " _Maker…"_

"Shit," Cullen hissed.

"Why would they do that?" Avery asked, "why would anyone do that!?" Her heart ached at the thought. She knew what it was like to lose an entire family and everyone from her childhood, as she'd experienced nearly the same when Lothering had been overtaken by the blight… and then Carver's death in the deep roads. And then her mother…

"The Duke of Wycome was accusing the clan of being the source of a plague that was ravaging the city, because none of them got sick, but it was the damned red lyrium. They'd put a crystal of it in the city's water source thinking that it was  _purifying_  it, those blighters," he explained with a steely growl, suddenly looking much sharper and more coherent than he had only moments earlier. But Avery was too overwhelmed with the shock of the news to be relieved. "The elves were fine because they weren't drinking the water, and that's the only reason. We'd tried to tell them as much…  _Maker… "_ he shook his head and squeezed at his brows. Avery looked back in the direction where Anon and Leliana had disappeared, trying to find their shapes within the shadows, but saw nothing.

"You'd better go to them. You're his  _date."_ The words came out with an aggravated coldness, the d and t overenunciated just enough to sound harsh. But his eyes were warm, looking at her longingly, and she ached to reach out and touch him.

"I'll be alright," he said softly. "Don't worry about me. You're already going to have enough on your hands tonight. I'll see you inside."

He motioned for her to be off with a business-like nod, and then turned his back to her, looking over the fountain just as she had been doing when he approached. She tried to catch another glimpse of his hands, to see if they were still shaking as they had been, but they were now completely hidden from view.

Around them were masked faces turned away and feigning indifference, but the eyes beneath watched them closely. Avery tried to remove any trace of worry from her face, trying not to communicate the many problems now on her mind for all the others to see, and she reluctantly departed.

The footsteps that carried her away from him fell heavy and clumsy over the stones and grass. She willfully ignored the continued stares and tried to smile pleasantly at those who nodded quiet greetings while she made her way to the back corner. She'd reached a cluster of trees before a gilded gate that led to a side chamber, and stopped to look around, seeing neither Leliana or Anon, or anyone at all.

"I can't find him," came a musical voice over her shoulder. She tried to control the startled jump at the voice coming out of complete silence, and turned to face the spymaster.  _Damned rogues!_  She thought again.

"He disappeared into the shadows," she sighed as she looked around.

"Aren't you both supposed to be good at that sort of thing? You just snuck up on me out of nowhere…" Avery asked with a raised eyebrow. "How does he beat you at your own game?"

"I  _am_  good," retorted Leliana. "And he didn't beat me at anything. But… I  _might_  be a little bit out of practice. Sitting in a rookery day in and day out for months will do that, I suppose."

Avery sighed, forcing another smile as a group of three ornately decorated women looked at the two of them from beside yet another fountain. "So what now?"

"You continue to search while I go find Gaspard, and try to buy us some more time," she said unhappily. "We are due for formal introductions to the Empress in about ten minutes. If you do find him…." She sighed, "I don't know. He is upset for certain…"

"Of course he bloody is!" Avery said, unable to help herself.

"I know…" she said softly, "just use your best judgment. Try to keep him calm, however you must. Maybe you can separate him from the rest of the crowd somehow so that he doesn't cause a scene, and then we'll just… take it one step at a time." Leliana gave her an apologetic look. "And here we were afraid that you and Cullen would be the biggest challenge tonight."

"We do know how to control ourselves, despite what everyone seems to think," Avery said, trying not to scowl. Even as she said it she knew it probably rang completely false. While they might have known how to, technically, they had  _chosen_  not to. Still, they were not children.

"Do you?" Leliana asked, an attempt at a tease that fell flat under the weight of worry, "That is news to us."

Avery said nothing. It was useless to argue that point here, not when Leliana was completely correct that now there were bigger problems at hand. And mostly Avery just felt her heart breaking for Anon.

"I am sorry to leave this on you," Leliana said before she slipped away. "Good luck, Hawke."

Avery barely saw the the people in the courtyard for all the thoughts jumbling around in her mind. She needed to find Anon, and to do it without looking like she was searching. She needed to keep an eye on Cullen, maybe try to find a way to get him alone for a moment, to talk to him, get a better idea of how he was feeling, if only to quiet her own mind. She needed to stay conscious of her appearance, to look calm and collected and not like she was about to cry for the loss of someone's entire family. She needed to stay upright and awake and not collapse with exhaustion from her lack of sleep, or of worry for her troubled lover.

Avery sighed as she stepped lightly through the grass, her eyes searching the shadows for any sign of movement, knowing that there was no way Anon was going allow himself to be seen if he didn't want to be. She climbed stairs to dead end balconies and looked down upon the courtyard, catching Cullen's eye more than once and trying not to get too distracted by staring into his smoldering gaze. She made her way deep into every hidden corner that she could find, and then had a thought to look for wherever the young girls happened to be. Sex being Anon's main vice, perhaps he might want to drown his sorrows with a woman who might actually give him a chance, since his date for the night certainly wouldn't. She walked up behind every cluster of petite, well dressed women and tried her best to listen in in case any of them mentioned anything about the Inquisitor. When that turned up nothing, she made her way back to the gates on the peripherals of the main courtyard, wondering if he'd sneaked out of the courtyard completely.

Leliana and Josephine met up with Cullen, talking quietly in a little group with Gaspard, doing quite well at not letting their expressions become too grave. Avery approached them slowly, with any sliver of hope that the situation might be salvaged slowly slipping away. Leliana greeted her with a nod, while Josephine conjured up her most convincing smile. Cullen remained completely silent, his eyes flicking back and forth between the other three before him, his face worryingly pale, and held as still as carved stone. Leliana's gaze turned questioning, and Avery shook her head, neither of them needing words to read Avery's failure at locating Anon.

"How late are we?" Avery asked.

"Very," said Leliana. "This is not good at all. It is going to cost him dearly with the court, and there is only so much time to spare if we hope to intervene for the Empress. My agents have provided a little bit of information about Briala, but there is still much we need to know."

Gaspard's eyes twinkled as he listened to Leliana, and Avery wondered why it was that Gaspard was allowed into this conversation. Her own understanding had been that he'd been one of the others vying for the throne, at least from what she could glean from overheard conversations.

"We need to find him, and quickly," said Josephine, "before the court writes us off completely. I will speak to -"

Even as Josephine spoke, a figure caught her eye, her attention drawn to the snapping of fingers at a slight, dark haired girl who carried a tray full of empty champagne flutes. The girl herself was unimportant, it was the pointed ears and delicate vallaslin that framed her eyes that seemed significant. As she looked around the courtyard, she saw several other Dalish working as servants, their grim faces kept cast down in subservience, working quietly, going almost completely unnoticed among the partiers, save for receiving the occasional sharp command, or derisive glance that managed to make its way even through the masks.

If Anon had just lost his entire clan and was overwhelmed with grief, might he be inclined to seek the company of other Dalish?

Without hearing the rest of what was spoken between the other advisors, Avery slipped away, weaving softly between loitering bodies, trying to keep her eyes trained on the little elf servant. Her tray was full of useless items, meaning that she had to be returning to the kitchen or wherever it was the elves prepared and refilled their drinks and hors d'oeuvres. Avery's heart fluttered wildly in her chest as she tailed the girl, oblivious to any staring eyes as she made her way to the far end of the courtyard and came to the corner gate that she'd already faced and wondered about. The girl opened the gate and Avery quickened her pace, finding herself fast on the elf's heels in order to catch it before it closed shut and locked. But she could not do so without alerting the girl to her presence. Had she been one of those damned rogues, like Anon was, she probably could have completely escaped notice.

"My apologies messere, but this area is supposed to be off limits to guests," the elf informed her meekly, as she stood to block the doorway.

"Yes, of course," Avery said, wondering if she might dare confide their problem to this girl. Leliana would say no, and she would probably be correct, but something in Avery's gut urged her not to give up easily. "I am just… I am trying to find my date," she said with a nervous laugh. "He is not in the courtyard, and I fear he might have wandered off and not been able to find his way back." She was sure that Anon would object to being depicted as someone who just stumbled around without knowing where he was. The girl's eyes were dark and knowing, flashing with a fleeting recognition that gave Avery hope. "He just received some troubling news and is very upset. He is Dalish, too…" Avery continued. "I thought maybe he might want the company of other Dalish…"

And there it was. She'd said everything she was free to say about the situation, and even that might have been too much. If the elf didn't already know she was speaking about the Inquisitor, she would eventually find out. Avery balled her nervous hands into fists, praying silently that this not come back to bite her, or the Inquisition as a whole, in the ass. "He has longish blonde hair with shaved sides, and his vallaslin is…" she made gestured on the sides of her face, curling up her temple and around her brow. "A little similar to yours, actually."

"Yes. The Inquisitor," the little elf finally said with a nod and a heavy sigh. Her pale face seemed at once worried and incredibly relieved. With a quick glance to the courtyard, the girl held the gate as she stood off to the side, frantically waving Avery in.

"Quickly," she hissed.

The girl walked at a rapid pace, navigating gracefully between bushes and pathways, making a beeline for an open door of a wooden building, an add-on to the palace that leaned weathered and shabby against a white palace wall. The interior of the little building glowed orange, and a thick plume of smoke rose from the stone chimney built into the side.

"Thanks the Gods," the elf said as she led stopped before the door. "We weren't sure what to do with him."

Avery's heart swelled with sympathy as she considered what that must have meant. Surely the kid was inconsolable, and apparently was making a nuisance of himself in his grief. But that wasn't his fault. What a terrible time and place to learn the worst possible news any person could hear. She stepped carefully through the door and made her way around a corner. At the far end of the kitchen stood a group of other elves and she let her guide step ahead of her to lead her toward them.

"She's here to help," the elf said hopefully, casting Avery a wary glance. "Right?"

"Yes," Avery confirmed gently as they made their way across the room. "Just tell me where he is."

"He's right here," said a young man, and the bodies parted, revealing the Inquisitor in his suit, splayed over the tabletop with his face buried in his arms. Beside a limp, unmoving hand sat an empty bottle, with a small ring of caramel colored liquid lining the bottom.

"Mahanon?" she asked, but Anon did not move. One of the elves shook his head at her, indicating that he wasn't responding. She picked up the bottle and sniffed it. It was some strange type of whiskey she couldn't identify by scent, the bottle unlabeled.

"He stormed in here and just started going through the cabinets," someone else said. "He was muttering all sort of names… he looked angry… like he might hurt us if we stopped him. And then… "

Avery waited for him to finish.

"Well, he was very upset," he said with another shake of his head.

"How much of this did he have to drink?" Avery asked the man, her blood suddenly feeling like ice in her veins.

"All of it," he answered nervously. Avery was frozen in place while the rest of the room looked at her expectantly. This was not going to do. Not at all.

" _Fuck!"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The full extent of Cullen's reaction to the dress coming in the next chapter. Along with a whole lot of other stuff.


	19. Chapter 19

Anon was heavy. The slender little elf weighed about twice as much as it looked like he should, but Avery slung him as best as she could over her shoulder, feeling him stir slightly as she jerked and nudged him, but not coming fully around. His head rolled back and forth, landing bony and hot on her neck before listing forward again, his body dead weight in her arms. She made it halfway across the kitchen before she had to call for help, and with the aid of two others, they slowly dragged him out the front door and around the corner of the building to a shaded, grassy area.

She slid to the ground with him and propped him up against a wall, taking a moment to shake her head in disbelief at the whole damned situation. Why exactly hadn't she told Leliana to just deal with this herself? None of this was supposed to be Avery's problem in the first place. But it was too late now, as to run back to the courtyard and goad the other advisors back to the servant's quarters would be to invite further notice and rumors from the court. And Maker but she didn't really care about any of that either, though she had no choice but to consider it. She sighed, looking at the pasty, unresponsive face of the slumped over elf before her. His breath wheezed through his nose in shallow rushes, and she chewed her lip with worry at the thought that the amount he drank might have been enough to be genuinely dangerous.

A couple possibilities for what to do came to mind, though she'd have to apologize to Cullen for his not being present for the first of them. With a sigh and a resigned shrug, she reared back and delivered the first of her severely limited options, which was a sharp smack directly to his face. Her hand stung with the impact against his cheek and the elves watching gasped at the move, but all she got from the limp man in response was a groan and a grumble. In frustration she pushed at his shoulder with a fist, jarring his body loose enough almost to fall completely into the grass, but she caught him and pulled him back up before he hit the ground.

"Anon, wake up!" she called urgently, while giving him a series of jolting shakes.

His head lolled and he groaned again.

"Maker's fucking breath," she hissed as she stood and looked down at her skirt. In the back of her mind the clock was still ticking, not that that was her fucking problem either, but if there was any hope at all of getting Anon where he needed to be, and soon, the contents of his stomach needed to be purged. And the last thing she wanted was to spend the rest of the evening smelling like the vomited remains of some strange elven liquor. In a rush she gathered her skirt up and twisted until most of the fabric was in a rope in her hands, and then knelt back down beside Anon, securing the gathered excess of skirt between her legs. With a quick wave of the hand, one of the servants was back at her side to help, and she directed him to grab Anon's arms and hold him as best as he could at an angle, facing down toward the grass.

She sat frozen for a moment, cursing silently with resentment. The poor sod was hurting for the loss of his family and hadn't been able to care about anything else, and that was something Avery could easily empathize with. But with each passing minute the evening moved further and further away from whatever it was that she had envisioned when she'd first been extended an invitation, and into something that seemed increasingly like her days of constantly being handed other people's problems to solve, just like fucking Kirkwall.

"Mahanon? Please wake up?" she tried one last time, turning her voice sweet and entreating, and she waited a heartbeat, and then another. The lack of response rang loudly through the yard.

With a wince and a groan she parted his lips with her fingers, pushed past the surprisingly sharp points of his teeth and reached in, pressing back on his forehead to stop the weight of his skull from clamping down as she sought the gullet at the very back of his tongue.

She was no stranger to mouths. She spent as much time as she possibly could attached to Cullen's, though that was a different endeavor entirely. Every single aspect of Cullen's lips, his tongue, the taste of him, the heat, the urgency… it was its own special, desirable, completely unmatched experience, and nothing even remotely like the prospect of exploring the mysterious cavern of a man she had little to no affection for. Anon's mouth was a great unknown, assumed to be unpleasant just as a default. This wasn't a kiss, nothing like a kiss at all, but sticking her fingers inside someone else with the intention of bringing up their stomach was still a gesture that felt unbearably intimate. But the clock only continued to tick, loud and urgent in her mind, and with another stream of quiet curses she began, her mind searching wildly for any other possible option and finding nothing there to rescue her from the task before her.

She felt her face twist into a sour grimace as she looked away, trying to block out the sensations she was feeling as she worked. Nothing happened at first, and she dug deeper, pressing and massaging strange, hidden areas, finally feeling his throat constrict briefly before loosening and falling as unresponsive as the rest of him. She kept at it, tickling the furthest reaches of warmth and moisture, searching for that perfect spot in his throat that had to trigger his gag reflex. She cursed again as she considered the possibility of him being one of those strange individuals who didn't even  _have_  a gag reflex, but even before she completed the thought she felt another constriction, this time accompanied by a rapidfire spasm and then a heave of his stomach. She yanked her fingers out and resisted the urge to wipe them on her thighs as she backed up quickly, worrying about getting splashed.

But the heaving didn't work, and with another unhappy groan she continued on with the next attempt, casting her eyes up to the bursting green of the treetops, the soft purplish light of early evening that glowed with wispy gold clouds. She even hummed for a moment, trying to think up a song to fill the remainder of her senses enough to drive her focus away from the lukewarm, moist orifice her fingers were prodding within.

This time he loosed a loud retch and then another heave, and she got out of the way just quickly enough to elude an outpouring of brown, venomous smelling liquid. She tried not to look, a futile attempt at preserving what scraps of dignity Anon had left, and she patted his back while his arches and convulsions grew in intensity. Another elf ran forward with a warm, wet towel and first she wiped her hand, then refolded the towel and waited some more, continuing to look around, up toward the elves, everywhere but at Anon's face, at the spillage projecting from his throat. He began to gasp and cough between heaves, and her eleven helper backed off as Anon pulled his arms free and put them to the ground, holding himself up shakily.

She relaxed under a tepid wave of relief though certainly this would not solve the entire problem. There was no doubt the boy would probably still be quite drunk. No matter how empty his stomach, his blood had still absorbed quite a bit, but at least he might actually be conscious. It was a start.

When it was finally done, after what felt like an absurdly long time, she pulled Anon away from the pool of sick and over to a fresh patch of grass that was downwind from the sour scent. He collapsed against the wall and she gingerly took the cloth to his face, wiping clean his mouth, his chin, his hair. He'd said nothing yet, but his eyes were open, and he was sitting up of his own accord. Avery took a quick survey of her dress and was relieved to see she'd gone unscathed. The way he stared straight ahead, his black eyes looking hollow and dead, was all horrifyingly familiar. Even though she'd never seen herself from the outside during the aftermath of her own losses, she knew how it felt to be as emptied as he looked, as devoid of the will to do anything at all, including breathe.

It was almost as though she had no choice in the matter when she pulled him into a tight embrace. Her chest ached for him, her heart shattered into a million, sharp and stinging pieces, the memory of the unpleasant task they'd just completed fading quickly away. He didn't respond at all at first, his arms laying limp at his side while she squeezed, hoping somehow that the force of her hug might push aside some of the grief and pull him back into the world. She closed her eyes and just held him for a moment, hoping that even if he didn't show it, he might be registering her attempt to comfort him, to show him that even if all the important people in his life were suddenly taken from the world, he wasn't left entirely alone.

Eventually a hand came up and laid lightly on her back, and then the other joined it. And she felt his head tilt and rest on her shoulder while she pressed back the tears building behind her eyes. Despite the depth of her empathy, the tears surprised her. It seemed that comforting him and thinking about his loss had the unfortunate effect of dragging out her own memories, parading them in front of the eye in her mind in a series of a heartrending images. She saw a flash of her mother, laughing as she smacked Avery's hand away from her bowl of cookie dough. She saw the twins, playing one of their incomprehensible twin games in the alfalfa field behind their house in Lothering, back when everyone was together and happy, before it was certain that all the strange whispers from people moving through town were about a blight. Her father was there too, looming tall and always a little mysterious, patiently teaching her and Bethany how to control the magic that spilled from their fingers.

She inhaled shakily, holding on to him until she was sure her own tears were going to come if she didn't pull back. So pull back she did, and saw in the process that his eyes were wet and reddened, hiding under puffy, heavy lids. But he only sniffed and sat against the wall again, his head falling against it with a thunk as he looked around sluggishly.

"I'm still here," he slurred.

"Yep," was all she could say as she shook the images of her own family out of her head and tried to focus again on him. It clearly wasn't going to do to try to rush him out and to the courtyard right away, so she leaned against the wall too, resigning herself to waiting out the post-vomit recovery period.

The small, dark haired servant girl came back with a fresh cloth and a glass of water, and then ushered the onlookers back into the building, leaving Avery and Anon alone in the small yard.

"I should have listened to Leliana," he said.

"Yep."

She sighed. She'd have to say more than that.

"How do you feel?" she asked.

"Like I just had a barrel of whiskey dropped on my head," he answered seriously. She sighed again. The slurring was not going to do when it was time for him to talk to the Empress, or pretty much anyone within earshot of the court. He gulped down the glass of water, finishing it in three quick swallows, and then dropped it in the grass before taking the cloth from Avery's hands and giving his face another pass. He wiped his collar and the chest of his suit, scrubbing away flecks and bits of spatter with a calm deliberation that showed he was capable of a little focus. The Anon she'd seen turn serious and sharp in an instant must still be under there somewhere, and she supposed teasing it out was her next task. Out the corner of her eye she saw his head loll toward her again, his glassy irises glaring into her. She looked back at him, unsure if he meant to stare at her like that, or if he was just struggling to focus.

"Why'd they send  _you_  to deal with me?" he asked.

She was an instant away from confessing that she was wondering the same thing, but instead she shrugged sympathetically. The truth was that, despite her resentment, she could probably understand what he was going through better than any of the rest of them, and it pained her to think of anyone his situation being treated with anything less than the utmost compassion.

"Well, first of all, I wasn't actually the only one looking for you. I just happened to be the one who found you," she said. "Secondly, you're my date. So I'm afraid we're stuck with each other for a little while." He nodded in understanding.

"Your family's dead too," he said, a little too bluntly. She almost winced at the words, but steeled herself. That was a sentence she could never quite say out loud, much less hear spoken. But it was true.

"Yes," she confirmed quietly. "They are."

"That's one of the reasons I like you," he said. She frowned at him, knowing somewhere that wasn't what he meant, but the words still landed wrong. It took him a moment, but eventually his drunken mind realized it and he shook his head.

"Um, no. Not because… I mean, you're so much like me. Or, I guess I'm like you, since you came first…" he sighed. "How old are you again?"

She raised her eyebrow as she relaxed the scowl off her face.

"Does that matter? I'm too old for you."

"Right," he sighed. "I guess this is just one more reason now that we are…." He dropped his head into his hands and rubbed hard at his temples. "That we…  _fuck_ , my head is pounding."

Without hesitation she tuned in to her mana and put her palm to his head, sending a wave of healing into him. It took a moment, but the energy lingered there, communicating back to her in its strange way. She felt his constricted blood vessels slowly begin to relax and open, the blood begin to flow easier, traveling in greater quantities into and around his skull. More blood to the brain would be good, she realized. It would help him think a little more lucidly, help him be able to act sober even if he wasn't. His body was still reeling from the shock of ingesting such a large quantity of a poisonous liquor, and then the additional shock of being forced to get rid of it so quickly, but slowly the warm glow of healing helped his rebounding organs and tissues calm down, pulling away the soreness, the damage from being brined in a foul alcoholic concoction.

He groaned as the magic did its work, and leaned his head against her palm, covering it with one of his own hands. He tried to lace his fingers between hers, his touch becoming something too close to that of a lover's for her comfort, but she waited to pull away until everything that her magic could do had been done. It wouldn't remove the alcohol from his bloodstream, what of it had made it that far into his system, but having a headache and a sore stomach on top of intoxication wasn't going to help matters.

She slipped her hand out from under his and crossed her arms over her chest. The hazards of being a healer, she'd learned long ago, was that there were always a few misguided fools who took the required touching as an invitation to take their own liberties. She sighed. She'd had to deliver a couple smacks to people who'd taken her touching them as a cue that it was okay to get handsy, but now at least if she had to do it again to the Inquisitor, it wouldn't be the first.

"Wow," was all he said, his voice already sounding a little more steady.

"So, feeling better then? I am sure you remember what all you are here to do?"

He blinked away some of the fog that lingered in his eyes and sat up straighter.

"Fuck," he said again. "That felt amazing. Different than the healer at Skyhold."

Avery nodded, unsurprised. From her understanding all healers had their own distinctive energy. Anders' had tingled, traveling into flesh like the goosebumps Avery used to get whenever her mother would braid her hair. He'd done it for her a few times simply because it felt good, and not because she needed it. As far as she knew about her own, it was warm and soothing, like slipping into a hot bath at the end of an exhausting day. At least that's what everyone always said.

She looked around, listening to the inappropriately cheerful song of the birds in the overgrown trees, giving him a moment to come to terms with his new lack of pain.

"So, listen, just don't think about the news you learned tonight. Just don't," she shrugged. It shouldn't be that easy, she knew, but maybe it could be, once the psychological shock set in. Which it always did. "Leave it for later tonight, or tomorrow. I am sure nobody is going to fault you for dealing with it however you need to once we're no longer under the scrutiny of the court. I will help, if you want. Just tonight, try to think about anything else. Do you think you can do that?"

He nodded, his eyes going distant for a moment. She wondered, worried, that it might be too soon, but there was little choice. They were already incredibly late and needed to get back. On shaky legs, she stood, grass stuck to her knees and calves, the skirt of her dress unfurling into a wrinkled cascade. She frowned as she regarded it, trying desperately to smooth away the worst of the lines and folds. It certainly wouldn't look good to return from a remote, sectioned off corner of the courtyard with an unsteady Inquisitor and a wrinkled dress.

Or… she realized, maybe that would be a good excuse. Certainly one that would start its own round of gossip, but it would be preferable, at least for Anon's sake, than anyone learning he'd downed a bottle of liquor until he passed out, and then had someone else's fingers shoved down his throat.

She took a deep breath and hoped that the worst of it was over, at least until the ball was done.

After helping him to a stand, she appraised him sharply as his body swayed.

"You need to act sober, Anon. Stand up straight. Don't slur your words. Actually… just say as little as possible, okay?"

He nodded with a hiccup, and she frowned.

"You remember how important this is?"

She saw his eyes sharpen for a moment as they searched inward, and she was quiet for a long moment, giving him time to process the situation.

"You're the Inquisitor. You're right that we're alike, in that we both know the pressure of having everyone count on you. It sucks, but look at what you've done so far? Everyone counts on you because you have earned their trust. You have shown that you are a capable, strong, intelligent man who knows how to think on his feet and get the job done," she said as she took his arm, holding him lightly by the elbow. "Let that be your strength, Anon. There is so much riding on tonight, but it's nothing you can't handle. You wouldn't be here at all if you hadn't proven that," she said, saying all the things that she imagined would have helped her back in her time.

"And you're not doing this alone, okay? Just tell me what you need and I'll help. Cullen will help. All of us have your back."

He nodded, his brows furrowed, his back straightening with what she hoped was increasing resolve.

"Yes," he said quietly. "Thank you Hawke."

A look of intense relief washed over Leliana's face when Avery and Anon walked back into the courtyard. A few times Anon's steps had stumbled a little, but Avery kept her hand firmly at his elbow, leading him steadily forward, allowing him to rest whatever weight he needed against her. Already she was tired, ready to call it a night and go back to her quarters, but the night had truly not even begun. They'd yet to set foot inside the actual palace, yet to meet the Empress, yet to do much of anything at all. When they finally reached Leliana, the action picked up in a blur. Josie reappeared from appeasing a group of impatient nobles, and then rushed off again to find Cullen, who was busy distracting Gaspard. Leliana leaned toward Anon and whispered a number of new details she'd learned from eavesdropping in the courtyard as she looked for him. Bull, Viv and Solas came almost out of nowhere, and the procession into the palace began hurriedly. Enough time had already been wasted.

Avery did her best to plaster on a pleasant smile and nod polite greetings to the numerous people she found herself faced with as they worked their way through the door of the palace. Somewhere after they'd emerged into the vestibule, Leliana nodded grateful indicating that Avery was dismissed, at least momentarily, left alone while the rest of the official Inquisition continued on to make their rounds with the nobles, and prepare to enter the Grand Ballroom.

The vestibule was spacious and peppered liberally with costumed bodies. Avery realized as she looked around that she'd already ceased to even think of them as true people, they seemed more like moving mannequins, puppets roving about awkwardly within their constricted dress and social norms. An elf scurried by with a tray full of champagne and Avery snagged a full flute off without making the girl pause. Her eye was caught by another elf she'd seen back in the kitchen with Anon, and they exchanged a cautious, knowing glance. Avery tried to shine a grateful smile toward him, but that only seemed to make him uncomfortable.

With drink in hand, Avery took a deep breath, glad to be done with the panic of the last half hour, praying quietly that the rest of the night be easy and event free. But a light touch brushed her waist, and she suppressed a startle as Leliana appeared silently behind her again.

"We have another problem," she said. Avery hid her scowl behind a deep drink of champagne. At this rate she'd be exchanging fake smiles for hidden frowns all night long.

"The letter that we received…. Anon's clan was targeted after the Duke of Wycome blamed them for what they thought was a plague," Leliana began.

"Yes?"

"The duke's own soldiers carried out the attack. One of those soldiers, who also happens to be the duke's brother, William, is in attendance tonight," she said, her voice and expression grave enough to give Avery a chill. "I would not put it past Mahanon to attempt to retaliate if he learns this. The news is so fresh, I doubt he would be able to control himself. That is William in the far left corner, with the blue jacket."

Avery looked nonchalantly in that direction, seeing an unmasked man with a lush blonde mustache talking genially to another man in a guard's uniform.

"Alright," Avery sighed heavily. "So keep Anon away from that man."

"He mustn't even learn that he is here," Leliana urged quietly. "Please, Hawke, stay close to Anon, and distract him however you must. Cullen may not approve, but he will understand once he is apprised of the situation which I will do at the first opportunity. We will help however we can of course. But as his date you are in a much better position to pose a distraction."

Avery nodded resignedly.

"I bet you are wishing you stayed back at Skyhold now, aren't you?"

Avery snorted. She technically didn't wish to be in Skyhold if Cullen wasn't there, but she certainly did not wish to be Anon's date and designated babysitter.

"Come along, then," Leliana said she led her deeper into the palace, guiding her toward a set of towering doors.

The introductions were slow, and Avery watched from the sidelines as each member of the Inquisition was called, the entirety of their names rattled off by a professional announcer before they made a long journey across a cleared floor toward the Empress. Avery scowled at the murmur of approving female voices that sounded off from around the balustrade when it was Cullen's turn, feeling a burning combination of both possessiveness and pride. She grabbed herself a second glass of champagne and watched him as he nodded politely, his head held high and his face a study in perfect disinterest. His eyes flicked covertly over the audience of people, and her stomach flipped with a force that made her lightheaded when they landed on her and stopped. His face registered no expression, but even for the instant his gaze was upon her she felt like the only woman in the room, and her cheeks warmed as she tried her hardest not to beam a smile down at him. Just as quickly he was looking ahead again, and a new chorus of voices arose when Bull began his walk.

Oh to be on Cullen's arm, and not Mahanon's. Surely he would be receiving some propositions before the end of the night, with as sharp as he looked in his suit. The Commander of the Inquisition, former Knight Commander of the Kirkwall order and easily the handsomest man there. If a handsomer man was in attendance, he was hidden by his silly mask. Avery pressed down a smug grin with the knowledge that she was the one he'd be sharing a bed with, despite the foolish hopes of the whispering onlookers.

After a brief rundown on what had happened in the servant's kitchen, Leliana and Josie had taken over handling of Anon in the lead up to the meeting of the Empress and for that Avery was grateful, but she watched him closely as his turn came. He looked like he'd cleaned up even more, his jacket perfectly fitted and unwrinkled, and he sauntered more than he walked, moving silently and with his characteristic grace, his body loose and relaxed. It almost seemed as if the liquor in his blood had been a boon, affording him calm nerves and the self assurance one gains with a few pints under the belt. The hushed whispers from the women nearby reached a new level of excitement when his black eyes cast along the crowd the same as Cullen's had done. And for the second time, the man of interest's gaze stopped at Avery, but Anon held his stare longer than Cullen did, and she felt as much as heard the whispers hush as faces turned toward her, recognizing her as the recipient of his stare. She was tempted to turn and walk away, leaving him to stare at a nothing more than a gap in the crowd, but she reminded herself that she needed to keep up appearances, however false they might be. So she mustered up a reassuring smile and a nod, setting off a new ripple of whispers. Maker these people truly did enjoy their gossip. As much as she wished to be with Cullen, she could barely imagine what manner of uproar they would have caused had they come as a couple.

Still, she didn't truly care. She was good at blocking out idle gossip. It had been a requirement of her title back in Kirkwall. Anon gave her a wink, looking if anything as cocky as he'd been the first night they'd met in Skyhold. She alone knew what they'd been through just before entering the palace, but that knowledge didn't seem to put any hesitation into his eyes. Perhaps he was still much drunker than any of them suspected.

When he finally reached the Empress the other advisors departed for further reaches of the Hall, indicating that they at least felt comfortable enough with Anon's behavior to leave him unattended with the Empress. Avery shrugged, reminding herself once again that it technically wasn't supposed to be her problem. At least not this part of it all.

What  _was_  her problem, however, was Cullen, though even he might disagree. He looked well enough during his walk across the floor, but that didn't mean much. Avery pushed away from the balustrade and set about exploring the floor, following hallways to dead ends, stairways to locked doors, seeking a hidden nook or an unlocked room that she could use to arrange a rendezvous with Cullen. Even to talk to him, to wrap him in her arms and have a moment of quiet peace together would lessen that nagging worry.

And how exactly was she supposed to make herself available for him if he needed anything, as she and Cassandra had discussed, when she was also to stay so damn close to Anon? To watch him and guide him away from the duke's brother? Maker's breath.  _Could nothing ever just stay simple?_

And to "distract" him using means Cullen might not approve of? Just what in the Void had Leliana even meant by that? Perhaps as a bard she was used to using seduction as a tool to manipulate her targets, but Avery blanched at the idea of putting out even a false offering of her body. Avery shook her head as she walked, resisting the urge to grumble out loud to herself as she eyed curtains and balconies.

Finally, what felt like the twentieth roped off door handle that she'd tried actually turned, and she heard the triumphant click of the door coming unlatched. She was at the end of a hall and around a corner, somewhere underneath a set of stairs. Gently, she opened the door, seeing a room lit only by the pale evening light and the illuminations of an unoccupied courtyard streaming through the large windows. It was a storage room, or so it seemed, and quite a spacious one. Three pieces of indistinguishable furniture were draped in white sheets. There was a table, a few lumpy burlap sacks and a stack of crates. She grinned as she pulled the door closed, grateful that the search was over and hoping that it hadn't been too long to steal a moment with her Commander. She turned to make her way back down the hall, taking note of markers that she could describe to Cullen which would signal the way to the room.

To her relief, Anon continued to chat with the Empress in the Grand Ballroom, and even from a distance she could see the curled lips of an amused grin on both parties. Surely Anon was turning on the charm, probably enhanced by alcohol fueled boldness, and possibly even thinking that the Empress would make a wonderful addition to his list of conquests. Now would definitely be the time to find Cullen, while Anon and the Empress were busy, and no one was worried or wondering where she was.

More walking, another glass of champagne and the pleasantly light head that accompanied it, and finally, from across a crowded pathway, she saw the red coat with blue and gold accents that indicated a member of the Inquisitor's party. She made her way toward the body and about halfway to it finally saw through a clearing of people enough to register the dark braided hair that meant Josephine. With a disappointed sigh, she turned around, resigned to continue her search, and almost walked directly into Cullen.

"You certainly have been covering a lot of ground," he said calmly as he retreated toward the wall. Avery held back the giddy smile that threatened to take over her face. Maker, they'd just spent three solid days together on a horse, and yet less than one full day apart and it already felt as though she hadn't seen him in weeks.

"Have you been following me?" she asked quietly as she looked around at everyone but Cullen, trying her best to feign disinterest.

"For a bit. Certainly can't beat the view," he said, his voice cracking with a suppressed smirk. He held his hands behind his back, and Avery noticed eyes upon her again, eyes peering from under holes in masks and that seemed far too interested in her for her comfort.

"Well, that would explain why I haven't been able to find  _you_ ," she said quietly, trying to keep her voice just low enough not to be heard, and deadpan enough not to sound like she was saying anything of great importance. "Then did you happen to see the hall I came out of not long ago?"

"I did," he confirmed.

"Excellent. Turn the corner at the end of the hall. There is an unlocked door." She smiled and nodded at a group of ladies who bowed their heads in recognition at her. "I'll meet you there."

"As you wish," he said.

She walked away from him without a glance, feeling her smirk show through in her suddenly too warm cheeks, in the spring in her step as she made her way back through the throngs of people she'd just passed only moments before.

 _Finally,_  she sighed inwardly.

The room smelled of dust, and Avery was busy smoothing the remainder of the wrinkles from the lawn out of her skirt when the latch to the door clicked open and Cullen ducked under the ropes that were supposed to bar entry. With a flick of her fingers Avery had lit two of the nubby candle remains that sat within the single candelabra in the room.

She registered no visible discomfort in him as he walked toward her. He still looked pale, but the lighting in the room was poor, and as far as she could tell his hands weren't shaking. His eyes were warm and deep, looking upon her with that intense sparkle that flooded her body with intoxicating chemicals.

"How are you?" she asked as they slowly approached each other. She wanted to run into his arms, wanted to climb him like a tree and rip that flattering suit straight off his beautiful body, but it seemed much more important to observe him while she could. The little niggling fear of his being overwhelmed, being overly stressed and triggering withdrawal continued to send cold crawls of anxiety over her skin. Standing there she wondered again why she had ever agreed to set foot in the ball with anyone but Cullen.

"I am not well," he said seriously as he approached and she stopped short, trying to determine whether he actually was serious. It seemed the wrong thing to joke about in the light of her very real concern, but there was less and less room for coherent thought the nearer he got. She felt her breath leaving her, but she wasn't sure if it was desire or if it was worry that was suddenly constricting her lungs.

"I am in agony in fact," he continued, each step that moved him forward making her heart pound a little harder, the reaction of her body to his enticing presence scrambling to reconcile with his anxiety inducing words.

Somehow she collided with the table that she was sure was supposed to be further behind her. Had she started moving away from him? She had no memory of that. Only of her legs going pleasantly numb as he stalked closer, his eyes locked onto his prey, preparing to devour. She cleared her throat and tried to form a question.

"Is it.. Are you… I mean… what's wrong exactly?"

She felt mesmerized by his smoldering eyes as he took the last few steps.

"What's wrong is that you are… devastatingly beautiful," he said, his voice turning breathy and soft as his eyes broke away, and swept over her neck and shoulders as palpably as a physical caress.

Somewhere in a spot of frozen time she went from standing separately, with a sea of air and space between them, to caught up, lifted, seized by solid arms that dissolved her within them while the ground beneath her feet disappeared. It happened faster than her instantly impaired brain could understand, as all the blood seemed to rush out of her head and collect between her legs, firing up a powerful aching for him almost as soon as he was within range. His hands were shockingly cold, but his mouth was hot and searching, hungrily claiming hers as he crushed her against him. Everything about him was tense and firm, not the least of which being the mass of rigid length between his legs.

She gratefully gave herself over, surrendering completely to the force of his embrace and the demands of his mouth. A low, wanton moan escaped her throat as she parted her thighs, wrapping a leg around him to lock him against her. He broke his mouth away and consumed down her jaw, dragging down her throat, tonguing into the hollow between her collarbones and to the barely exposed upper mounds of her lifted breasts. Her concern for his well being quickly became a distant memory, and she couldn't help but smile as she gripped his hair by the roots and shuddered at the need in his devouring mouth.  _This_  was the effect she was hoping for with the dress.

His whole body was coiled against her, his cock straining forward and doing its best to defy the hindrance of their breeches and skirt.

"Fuck," he breathed as he slowed himself, his body quivering with the effort. "You know how to make a man suffer."

She sighed. "Suffering was the last thing I intended, my love."

"I know… but Maker's breath, Avery. This dress is…" he stopped as he looked down, one hand coming up to cup a breast through the fabric and then dragging over the bare skin above the hem, his hands still cold, but warming as his explorations gained urgency. His fingers moved to curl under the hem of her neckline, and she felt the preparation to pull the dress loose building up in his tensing muscles.

"Don't you rip it!" she urged as she grabbed his hand, holding it against her to keep the dress intact. She almost laughed, marveling at how tenuous his control felt. His pulse hammered furiously under her touch and she looked up into his blackened eyes. He was panting through parted lips, his cheeks and ears irresistibly pink. His hips grinded hard into hers, the shaft of his cock feeling like a leaden rod.

"Maker…" he groaned, his voice dripping with anguish as he keened and pressed his hips deeply into her, bruising against the soft flesh of her mound but also connecting with the singing bundle of nerves that sent her arching against him, moaning and pulling in the fleshy cheeks of his buttocks to bring him even closer still. He bent down and suckled again at her throat, pushing her breasts up so he could mouth and tongue the soft pillows that pushed over the hem of her dress. She felt a small nip of pain, and realized that he was using his teeth, which only had her mewling and bucking harder against him.

In what seemed to be a sudden panic, one of his hands pulled up the skirt of her dress and sought the pathway of her thighs while the other fumbled quickly with his breeches, yanking flaps open with an urgency she'd never before seen in him.

"I'm not gonna…. I'm sorry… I can't…" he whimpered as his brows furrowed, a look of almost painful desperation coming over him. As soon as he grabbed his shaft his back arched and Avery recognized with a start what was about to happen.

She slipped to her knees and put her lips to the purpled, throbbing cockhead. At the moment of contact he groaned loudly, his breath coming in jagged bursts. She took him in completely, lubricating him with saliva, letting her mouth and throat get used to his bulk, and she let her tongue roam over him, sliding into all the grooves and lines of his cock.

"Mmmmm," she moaned, savoring the feel of him, the perfect shape, the perfect curve, the perfect size. She cupped his bollocks, squeezing and massaging and almost immediately she felt them tighten, pulling upward in preparation to come as he whimpered and moaned, his sultry voice ringing loudly through the empty room.

As he arched and gripped her hair she pulled back, moving her hand up his, directing him to take control. He obeyed, grasping his shaft and beginning to apply the few strokes that would carry him over the edge, while she let her lips hover around the cockhead, her tongue flat against the underside, her lips kissing and caressing softly, opened and waiting for his spend to fill her mouth.

She looked up into his eyes and saw a face as beautifully contorted with ecstasy as she'd ever seen, his eyes deep and wild, his chest heaving, nectarous lips parted and kiss-reddened. Her own sex was growing increasingly warm and wet as she watched his hand work expertly over his shaft, imagining how it was when he was alone, how many times he touched himself while thinking of her. And as quickly as it had begun, he was tensing up, one of his hands coming forward to cup her jaw, steadying her face as he began to loose his seed into her. It hit the back of her throat and she gulped it down hungrily, thrilling at how his eyes darkened at the sight, her mouth and tongue so genuinely eager, so desperately  _wanting_. The other times they'd done this she'd not been in a position to be able to look into his eyes, but now she needed to see his face as he finished, see him watch her enjoying the taste of him, the salty, slightly tangy essence of him that her body craved.

A spurt of seed hit her cheek and she closed her mouth around the slippery head to corral in any additional spray, swirling her tongue around the ridge and tonguing the slit, trying to catch every bit of it as he stoked, hissing and growling with the final spasms of his release. His thumb moved to wipe the little spray of warmth off her cheek and she turned to catch the finger with her mouth before he could pull fully away, sucking off every remaining bit and holding him there for several heartbeats, her tongue feeling along the arches and lines of his finger.

She still held his eyes with hers, locked hard onto those burning amber jewels as they both took a breath and came back into the moment. She released him and smiled. She smiled at the beautiful picture of the man she loved enjoying her, at the thought that she would leave this room and walk among a crowd of other women who desired him, but she'd be the one with the taste of him clinging to the back of her throat. She would be the one who had made him come almost solely by wearing a dress. She would be the one eventually taking his surname, making their union permanent and public.

"Maker," he gasped, still panting, seemingly in disbelief at the attack of orgasm that seemed to overtake him. She rose to her feet, wiping the corners of her mouth with a great shudder of satisfaction.

"Mmm, I fucking love your cock, darling" she said with a grin as she cupped his bollocks again, enjoying their weighty softness in the palm of her hand. Next time she would show them much more attention.

"My cock loves you," he returned with a smirk and a quiet laugh. "As do I." He pulled his breeches closed, hastily securing the ties before collapsing forward to rest his forehead on her shoulder, and she sighed contently as she sat back upon the tabletop, and brought her arms around the broad expanse of his back.

"Sorry that was so quick," he said eventually, but Avery could only laugh sweetly.

"Love, that was pretty much the best compliment I could hope for," she assured him as she combed a few errant curls back into place. "I take it the dress has your approval?"

He snorted, his head nodding against her as he laughed in confirmation. His body fell more deeply forward, sinking down onto her with a welcome relinquishing of his tension, and she squeezed her arms around him, breathing him in as deeply as she could while digging her nose into his hair.

Her hands moved to gently massage the back of his neck, calling up a glow of healing for his head, just in case he was having headaches that he wasn't mentioning, and she closed her eyes and listened to the magic as it worked. She felt a stalling of his bloodflow somehow, something different about his circulation, or the blood itself, something she couldn't quite recognize. She leaned against him with equal fervor, resting the weight of her body onto him while pushing the magic from her entire length and not just her hands, opening herself wide to the Fade to take a deep drink of mana, trying to coax the disturbed rhythm of his body back to normality. She didn't know if it was the effects of lyrium withdrawal she was feeling, or the fact she'd tuned her magic into him immediately after sex. Sex certainly involved a bit of a change in the bloodflow, especially for a man with an extra appendage to fill. Either way, she poured everything she had into him, just in case it would be a while before they could both slip away again, just in case the stress continued to build up as he waited through the night, just in case he wasn't letting on what else he was suffering.

She let her cheek rest against the hot skin of his neck and he moaned with the flood of magic coursing over him, his body getting even heavier against her, relaxing down into her touch. As exciting as his urgent need for her had been, it was a quiet moment of holding him that she had really been aching for. Just a few minutes of peace, with no small talk, no Anon, no masked observers hanging on their every move. Only Cullen in her arms and her in his.

She let the moment drag out, feeling his heartbeat more clearly than her own as she rested, attached to him through the cloud of her magic. It was a long stretch of indulgent serenity that seemed to refill her flagging energy.

Eventually he groaned as he let out a deep inhale.

"Wow. Whatever you just did, I feel so much better," he whispered, his voice sounding foggy.

"Good," she said. "So you  _were_  feeling badly then?"

He nodded, grumbling assent.

"Is it… the withdrawals?" she asked. He nodded again, his heavy body beginning to stir slightly, preparing to pull back.

"How bad?"

"It's nothing I can't handle," he said, picking his head up with what looked like considerable effort. His face was smooth and relaxed, and Avery felt deeply pleased at the change. "Funnily enough I discovered somewhere along the way that, erm,  _relieving myself_  in the manner that we just um, partook, helps quite a bit with the headaches. It's so much nicer to have your assistance though."

He sighed again, "of course 'nicer's a bit of an understatement."

"Interesting," she remarked as she thought about it. Sex helped. That was a welcome bit of news, and certainly a service she would be happy to provide. He stood up straight again, arching his back in a languorous stretch before brushing back a tendril of hair that at some point had worked its way loose from its jumble of twists and braids. His fingers were still noticeably cooler than the room as well as the rest of his body.

"So, the cold hands are a part of it, then?" she asked, and he confirmed with a nod.

"That's really just a minor irritation, but… yes." His hands were much less cold now than they had been before, but still she grasped both of them and held them tightly.

"What else?"

He laughed softly and narrowed his eyes as he shook his head.

"Please, Avery, don't worry about me. I don't want to be another burden on you tonight," he said. "And I already feel… greatly improved."

She frowned as the little, fearful voice in the back of her head warned that there was no way it could be that easy. Not after he'd struggled for months and months, and here he was thrust into an incredibly stressful situation, in an incredibly stressful place, teeming with insufferable people. And still there was such a long night ahead.

"We better go before Mahanon comes looking for you," he said gently with a squeeze of her hands.

She nodded, still frowning. Clearly she was going to get no more information from him. But at least now she knew better what to do. "You should probably go first."

"Alright," he cupped her cheek and pulled her face up to look at him. The warmth in his eyes melted away the hardness that was constricting her brows, and the frown began to dissipate.

"I love you," he said softly. She heard the love there, heavy in his voice. It was heavy in his eyes, in his touch. She melted even further, sinking into a love-drunk delirium that pulled the remnants of her scowl into a heady grin.

"I love you, Cullen."

With a soft, lingering kiss, he bid goodbye and slipped back out the door.


	20. Chapter 20

"I think it's time to dance," Anon said over Avery's shoulder, before wrapping a wiry arm around her waist and pulling her toward the dance floor. The duke's Brother was no where to be seen, and Cullen stood next to a window on the far side of the room, looking small and not particularly pleased about the growing clusters of Orlesians milling about and trying to engage him in conversation. Avery eyed the sparsely populated dancefloor where only a few couples were taking turns stepping and spinning around each other in time to the music.

"Um… I don't know this particular dance," Avery said, but she didn't fight him as he guided her out onto the middle of it.

"Just follow my lead," he whispered before stopping and taking her hand, stepping immediately into sync with the others. Avery watched his body and mimicked his steps, figuring as long as she stayed in time with the music it didn't matter too much whether she did everything perfectly.

"And how does a Dalish man know an Orlesian dance?"

"Well," he began, his glassy eyes betraying the alcohol that was still in his system, "I might have spent some time here in the Dales before this thing happened." He nodded at the mark on his hand.

"Oh?" she asked.

"And why wouldn't I? All my peoples' history is here," he said. "There's fuck-all up in the Marches, except for a bunch of depressing alienages."

She nodded, focusing on the steps of the dance, eying the other couples and looking for cues to the next move. After doing a spin with palms touching, they turned and did the same with the opposite hand. Anon's mark buzzed, making the skin of her palm itch.

"Dalish get around much easier down here, without too many questions," he commented.

"Is that right?"

"It is. You have to deal with the fact that everyone just assumes you're a servant running errands for a master or something like that. And so many of these shems seem to think that  _all_  Dalish are their servants." he said. "Even tonight… I've already had three assholes call me a knife-ear under their breath." He shrugged like it was no big deal, but Avery could hear the venom in his tone.

"Seriously?" she asked, aghast. He laughed at her, a dark, bitter laugh.

"I'm sure that's not the worst thing I am going to hear before this is over, either," he said. "But you know, I am finding it very difficult to care? It might be the whiskey, but fuck these people. Fuck all these arrogant shems who think they're so much better than us. Think they can just wipe out a whole  _fucking_ …" the hand on hers squeezed as he spoke, his body clenching with barely concealed vitriol. Avery could think of nothing to say, reeling from how unexpectedly he'd gone from what seemed like a state of normal, yet perhaps somewhat intoxicated, to seething with hatred. She supposed this too was to be expected. "And the way these servants all cower and scamper, like a bunch of kicked fucking puppies..."

He was speaking almost too loudly and Avery winced at the volume, getting distracted enough to stumble during another turn. Anon swept in effortlessly and had his arm around her waist again, holding her steady while she regained her footing. She picked her feet back up and pushed gently off of him, continuing along in the dance as though nothing had happened.

"Fuck her," Anon said, his eyes trained on something behind her. They flicked to the next person. "And fuck him. And fuck her, and her, and that guy with the mustache. And all these stuck up assholes with their frills and gold bullshit and masks."

Avery cast a glance over her shoulder, expecting to see the duke's brother. But it wasn't him. It was an absurd mask with bulging cheeks that had a mustache painted on to it.

"You might want to consider being a little quieter," she warned him softly.

For the first time since they'd stepped onto the dance floor his dark eyes met hers. He closed his mouth and set his jaw, saying nothing else. The music changed, moving to something slower and more melodic, and she paused for a moment, awaiting Anon's signal. He moved in close and took one of her hands in his own, wrapping the other arm around her waist again, pressing into her back until their bodies brushed together. He stood only a few inches taller, and his face seemed uncomfortably close. She turned her head away and looked past him, trying not to hold herself too stiffly.

"How are you feeling?" she asked. Maker, it seemed this was a question she was destined to be asking all night long.

"Too fucking sober," he whispered, but the edge in his voice had softened. "I mean… I am still drunk. But not bloody drunk enough."

It was harder to see his feet now that they were standing so close, so she kept her eyes trained on the pair of men dancing next to her. Without one of those full skirts in the way, she could see each partner's movements clearly. Thankfully the steps were as slow as the music, and easy to follow.

"Aren't you going to tell me how stupid I am for doing what I did? For… making you have to do what you did?" he asked, his breath breezing softly over her ear.

"Nope," she said simply.

"Why not? Leliana already has."

Avery sighed. She doubted Leliana had said it exactly like that. But that is clearly what Anon had heard. It was perhaps even what he wanted to hear, thinking he deserved it.

"If that's true then you don't need to hear it again. And I'm sorry she said that to you at all," she said. He waited for her to say more, his warm breath continuing to come, wisping over her neck and raising her hairs on end, sending pleasant tingles traveling down her back. She cringed away from it. She didn't want to be in the arms of another man at all, much less have it feel  _good._ He felt her react, and loosened his grip on her.

"You're so…  _confusing,_ " he gasped, quietly exasperated.

"What?" she asked sharply, "Why am I confusing?"

"Because you… you do what you did for me… and said those nice things… but now you're cringing like I disgust you," he said. "Is it because I'm a knife-ear?"

"Don't be ridiculous," she said, trying not to roll her eyes.

"Why? Are you some special breed of shem that's immune to prejudice? Next you're probably going to say 'I can't be racist, my best friend is an elf'."

She shrugged, trying not to let her irritation escalate into anything more.

"I wasn't going to say anything like that. Even though it does happen to be true," she said. "Besides, you're the one railing against an entire race of people right now, not me."

He snorted derisively, but Avery ignored him, keeping her eyes on the couple beside her. She sighed. It seemed like he was trying to antagonize her into… something. Maybe he wanted to be berated. Maybe he had some lingering self destructive impulse that was looking for a fight. But Avery had no desire to take the bait.

"Look, clearly you're having the shittiest night ever and need to take out a bit of aggression onto somebody, and that's fine. Go ahead and take it out on me if it makes you feel better. Can you just do it a little more… quietly?"

"Why is that fine?" he asked, almost disgustedly.

She shrugged. "Because I get it. What you're going through. Maybe not everything. Obviously not the horrible comments about being Dalish. But the other stuff… "

"Stop it. Don't be nice to me," he said. "I don't need any more of your shemlen charity."

"Don't tell me what to do," Avery said. "I'm your date, not your subordinate." Anon was quiet for a moment, studying her closely with an expression she couldn't quite decipher.

"So do you let Cullen do that?" he asked next, his voice cold. "Just 'take out' his aggression on you?"

She sighed again, recognizing his change of tactic and feeling all the more determined not to let him get a rise out of her. She kept her voice calm.

"Why would you even suggest such a thing?"

"Because. The man has a temper. I've seen it," he said. "You know he almost hit me with his box of lyrium once? Threw it across the room as I was coming into his office and smashed it to bits. Took a chunk out of his book shelf with his fist, too. A really thick piece of wood, just splintered." He paused as they made another slow spin, passing closely by another couple.

"And what happened last night at camp? You both were… practically screaming. That didn't sound like sex," he continued. "Unless you guys just like the same sorts of things that Bull does."

Avery snorted. Somehow that didn't come as much of a surprise.

"No. He had a bad dream and accidentally stepped on me. I wasn't expecting it, but I'm fine and so is he. It's not a big deal."

Anon looked as though he was trying to decide whether he believed her, and she held his gaze without blinking. After a long moment, his face relaxed and he looked away.

"Yeah, he had a few of those when we were camped out after Haven," he answered eventually. "Woke up the whole camp one of those nights too. It's the lyrium, right?"

Avery nodded, hating that she had to confirm that. But it seemed that Anon already knew.

"Is that why you hate him?" she asked. "Because he almost hit you with a lyrium box?"

He laughed, but didn't respond.

"The big bad Inquisitor is afraid of a little wooden box?" she teased, seeing the hint of a lip curl in his scowl. "Our intimidating little rogue can't be bothered to hop out of the way of a flying projectile? How in the Void have you not been taken out by a fireball yet?"

"I'll have you know there was a bunch of glass and a knife in there too," he said. "I could have gotten cut. And it made a huge mess."

"Well," said Avery, feigning seriousness. "I stand corrected. That sounds terrifying."

"Besides, I don't hate him. I actually have a lot of respect for him. It's  _him_  that hates  _me,"_ Anon continued, all the sharpness in his tone now gone.

"He doesn't hate you either," she told him. "He just thinks you're a… pain in the ass. And you are, you know. Especially right now, you are being a huge bloody pain in the ass."

Anon's scowl broke completely as he laughed, an unexpected and almost delirious sounding giggle. Relief washed over her at the sound. Whether it was her doing, or something else, there was no way he was going to safely navigate through the viper's pit of the Winter Palace with as combative an attitude as he'd had a few minutes earlier.

"Yep. I know," he sighed, shaking his head. "Story of my life."

Avery couldn't help but smile a little bit. Professional Pain in the Ass might as well have been her official title, back before it was Champion.

"Yeah. Mine too."

"He's got nice teeth though," Anon said. Avery laughed again, but this time in utter confusion. She followed Anon's eyes down to a thin red bitemark on the top of one breast, just peeking out over the hemline of her dress. She suppressed a grin and pulled up the dress enough to hide the mark. Maker, she hadn't even noticed.

"I didn't see a single crooked tooth."

"Yep. Nice teeth," she confirmed, feeling her cheeks grow hot.

Over Anon's shoulder she saw Leliana looking at them pointedly, trying to get their attention. Avery nudged Anon, who turned to look, then sighed resignedly as he led her off the dancefloor and toward the petite redhead, his buzzing marked hand holding tight to hers the entire way.

She got a quick glimpse of Cullen before Anon pulled her through ballroom and back out into the vestibule, and what she saw was worrying. Cullen looked pale and haggard, and she kept her eyes on him until the moment he was completely out of sight, trying to determine whether it was maybe just bad lighting. He had shadows around his eyes, and his brows were deeply furrowed. He talked in short bursts to the people around him, and she could practically hear the irritation dripping from his voice from across the room. There were numerous women in various style of dress, women who were repeatedly adjusting their hair and gowns, which Avery recognized as the self conscious primping that accompanies flirtation. She was even sure she saw a slender man next to him try to reach toward Cullen's bottom. Cullen did not look happy at all.

Avery barely saw where she was being dragged, her mind left back in the ballroom, but quickly came alert at the bottom of an empty stairwell, when Anon stopped and froze into place. From where they stood she could hear two men talking quietly to each other, and she was certain she'd heard one of them say "Gaspard." Anon stood and listened for a long time, and Avery ended up bored, shifting her weight on her feet and wishing she was anywhere else. Anon had not explained why she had to come along on this particular treasure hunt, and she'd not been privy to whatever Leliana had told him, but she'd been asked to stay close to him anyway. So she bit her tongue and waited as patiently as she was capable, until finally he was satisfied with whatever he heard. He grabbed her hand again and continued up the stairs.

The Grand Library was breathtaking, and as soon as the door closed behind them Anon dropped her hand and rushed away, making a quick, completely silent lap around the room before returning.

"If anyone finds us, pretend like we were looking for some place to be alone," he whispered. "Stay close. I might have to kiss you. You know, to be convincing."

She sighed. "Please don't kiss me."

"Am I really so repellent?"

"Anon, you know damn well what the problem is with you kissing me," she said. "Unless you actually do want Cullen to hate you. And me too, by the way."

"Well. My apologies messere, but consider it your civic duty," he smirked.

"No," she said.

"You would let the Empress get assassinated just to avoid letting me kiss you?"

"Yes," Avery said. Anon just stood there and looked at her.

"Fine. For every kiss you force upon me, I get to punch you in the face," she said. "One kiss, one punch. That's the deal."

"If you hit me here, that would defeat the whole purpose," he said.

"Oh we can wait until later. Cullen would want to watch anyway," she said pleasantly.

"I see…" he said, and then he raised an eyebrow. "Might Cullen also want to watch…  _other_  things?"

Avery sighed exasperatedly. "Is that a serious question?"

"Or he can join. I don't mind. He is quite strapping after all," Anon added. "Maybe he'd like to take out some of his aggression on me too. I do enjoy a bit of  _man_ handling now and then." Avery scowled, but he ignored it, turning his back to study a set of bookshelves.

"I just don't like the idea of him hurting you," he continued. "Or anyone… non-consensually, away."

"Cullen would never hurt me," she said.

"But he did. He made you scream like that last night… he punches book shelves and throws boxes…" Anon pulled a book out and a piece of paper slipped out, fluttering quietly to the floor. Anon picked it up and looked and it, then shoved it in a pocket. Avery finally felt the bristle of irritation again, goaded into something stronger as it mixed with the worry left over from the way Cullen looked as they'd left the ballroom. Despite her attempts not to let him rile her, words began to spill out before she could stop them, but she tried to keep her voice low.

"I don't get it… you act like you hate him, but you say you respect him and actually kind of want to fuck him, yet you're fixated on all these horrible things you think he's done-"

"I don't  _think_  he did them—"

"And you also want to ruin his whole life by making him take fucking lyrium again?" She cringed after it was said. She'd wanted to talk to him about that, but it seemed the wrong place, the wrong time. And she didn't feel prepared. She still hadn't even finished Cullen's letters. She knew enough about the withdrawal now to know that it was bad,  _horrific_  even. And again the black letter came to her mind, while the warring back and forth that she'd fought for the whole trip fired up in her brain again. She should have been reading the letters. She had no regrets for spending so much time with Cullen on the horse. But she should have been reading the letters.

Anon stopped browsing through the books and turned around.

"It seems to me… that if the man is having such bad nightmares… headaches and forgetfulness, acting out violently, making himself a giant fucking liability to the Inquisition and our ability to save the whole bloody world," he began, his words coming clipped and sounding almost practiced, "and yet taking lyrium will solve all those problems… then he should be _wanting_ to take it on his own," Anon said calmly. "I have been waiting for him to come to that conclusion himself. If he's smart, and I know he is, then he will. If he doesn't, and he continues to be a problem, then I will do what I have to do to ensure that the Inquisition is successful. That is precisely why they made me the leader. He'll have plenty of time to try again once this is all over."

"Oh will he?" she sneered, and then tried to wipe the scowl off her face. Her gut was telling her that would not be the winning approach, and she took a deep breath.

"Anon, you don't know what you're asking. The kind of agony that he will go through,  _again._ He's already been doing this for so long, and he's so close… the worst is over. And now I'm here too and I can help…" Avery said, feeling a shaky, desperate anger course through her and begin to stir up her magic. She took another deep breath and tried to calm it down, but it vibrated under her skin, an electric charge building up until the hair on her arms stood on end. "You just… you don't know what you're asking."

"No,  _he_  doesn't know what  _he's_  asking of me!" Anon said, his voice turning growly. "I thought  _you_  might, because you've been there. Having so many people watching you… piling on all the expectations and then waiting for you to fail. And it's worse because I'm a bloody Dalish. No one in Thedas wants to see a knife-ear be the savior of the damn world! They'd rather see Corypheus win than me!"

"That's not true, Anon," she said, taking another deep breath and feeling the thrumming in her bones lessen as his words sank in.

"It is. I'm not going to let the Inquisition go to shit. Then everyone out there right now… all those masked fucks out there in the Ballroom who  _right this second_  are saying that a stupid Dalish kid can't possibly succeed, will all be proven right just because our Commander doesn't want to take his lyrium. I'm sorry Hawke."

"But…" she started, her mind floundering. "But… so, are you saying that he doesn't do his duties? Because it seems to me that he works pretty damn hard. And the Inquisition has an impressive army, and most of those men are only there because they came with him…"

Anon nodded. "That is true. He is... irreplaceable. But have you seen him get forgetful? Disoriented? Yell at someone who doesn't deserve it because he has a bloody headache?" he asked, "Because I have. And if that sort of stuff happens around the wrong people, at the wrong time, when we need him to be lucid, then it could be a big problem. And guess who everyone is going to blame for that.  _Me._ "

"You have no faith in him, then. You don't think he can do it?" she asked. "Because he is doing it. He's out there doing it right now, despite the fact that he's stressed to the Void and back, and hates everything about this place. But he is a fucking human being, Anon. No one in the Inquisition is going to be perfect 100% of the time, including you. Including me and Solas and Varric and that bearded guy…"

Anon just looked at her, the silence between them growing heavier by the second.

Behind them a door latch clicked. Her breath caught in her throat just as the bookshelf crashed into her back, her gasp of surprise muffled as a pair of lips landed onto hers and arms wrapped tightly around her waist. At first she pushed his chest but he only clutched her harder, restraining her attempts to fight. It took a heartbeat, and a warning grumble from Anon, but slowly she realized that he was only letting his lips rest lightly on hers and not actually going in for a real kiss. With a sigh she calmed and let herself rest against the bookcase until it was over. When no one came to investigate, his arms dropped away and he took a step back to continue browsing the book shelf.

"So there's one punch," she said flatly.

"Fine. You can have it," he answered.

She stood there for a moment, her mind in a tangle, and a heavy ache in her stomach. She ached desperately for Cullen, but also, against her will, a little bit for Anon. She could see the difficulty in his situation. He obviously just didn't know what Cullen would suffer, or the suffering he'd already endured.

"Look, as long as Cullen has no more incidents, then we're all cool and nothing needs to be done, okay? He knows that. Cassandra knows that. And now you know that."

Avery walked to a nearby table and dropped down into a chair.

"He's lucky to have someone who cares about him so much," Anon said quietly. "I envy him."

"I'm sure you could have someone, if you stopped all that wager bullshit," Avery said, her voice coming out a rasp. She suddenly felt deeply tired, and wanted only to go home.

"Well… I already did have someone, once," Anon said. He pulled another book out and pocketed a paper from it. "I'd always hoped to go home when this was all over and win her back. That, you know, maybe she might be impressed by… all  _this._  But… apparently now she's dead."

Avery's heart sank even deeper. She couldn't help but think of Cullen, and bit back the tears while she sat and waited. 

 

 

After an extended search of the library, she was released again, left alone to wander the ball while Anon gathered Bull, Viv and Solas and went to investigate something they'd heard about the servant's quarters. Avery made a beeline for Cullen, her stomach dropping at how ashen his face looked. She gave him a nod toward the room, and after he nodded in return she turned and made her way directly toward it.

She lit two more of the candle nubs and stalked around the room, her heart heavy with Anon's words. It would easier if she wasn't able to see his side of things, but whether due to her own experience, or her tendency toward being a pathetic bleeding heart, something Isabela had always accused her of, and with such audible disdain, she didn't know. But she could understand. Though why was she so worried? Did she not have any faith herself that Cullen would be able to withstand whatever symptoms of withdrawal still came around from time to time? So far there'd only been the nightmares, and other symptoms that he'd apparently been able to hide without anyone being the wiser. Avery hadn't seen all the things Anon had mentioned, disorientation and forgetfulness, so maybe he was finally past all that too. She paced back and forth, her heart racing inexplicably, a giant lump of worry in her throat. She just needed to get him through the night. Get him through this ball, and then home and then whatever problems he had, she would deal with. She would heal him, and feed him regularly, and read all his letters, and his logs that he said he kept, and help him sleep and they could fuck his headaches away and everything would be fine. They would be fine.

The door latch clicked open, and Cullen climbed over the rope, coming toward her as quickly as she moved toward him. The hands that scraped over her exposed back were freezing, and she could feel the trembling in his fingers as she wrapped herself completely around him with a renewed urgency. She could feel his pain there, in his head, under his skin, even before they sank to the floor of the room together, before she fired up her healing as hard as she'd ever done in her life and poured it into him. His heart raced, thrumming against his chest and knocking dizzyingly against her own. They leaned against the door, limbs locked around the other, no words needing to be spoken. She got comfortable in his lap and just held him, ensconced warmly in their own little healing cloud.


	21. Chapter 21

It was such a relief to be alone together again, but the repeated applications of her healing, the last one in particular having been done with such desperate force, was pushing her exhaustion into almost unbearable levels. Cullen groaned contentedly in her ear while she held him, and after countless minutes of resting within the oasis of his arms she felt her alertness flag, drifting away into what could easily have become a deep sleep if she hadn't sat up suddenly in an attempt to jolt herself awake. Cullen only watched her with amusement as she shook her head, trying to wipe the bleary drowsiness from her eyes. Halfway through the motion she cringed, remembering the kohl. Cullen laughed at her, a warm and relaxed laugh that had her joining in reflexively.

"Shit," she laughed, "Did I smear it?"

"Yes, you certainly did." He reached up to gently wipe his thumb under the lashes of her lower lid, apparently attempting to smooth things back into place for her. Maker, she was definitely not used to wearing makeup.

"Hold still, love," he whispered, his lips curling affectionately into his little half smile. She couldn't help herself, and despite his attempts to correct whatever mess she'd made, she came in closer, drawn inexorably to the enticing curve of his lips, the rugged quirk of his scar.

"No… that's… this is the opposite of holding still-" he grumbled with audible affection, but she quieted him with her kiss. It was a gentle brush at first, lips bumping and breezing against the other, and then moving to a deeper suckle, first the bottom lip, and then pulling in the top, pressing and nibbling, wanting to experience the plumpness, the lush textures and beautiful lines that arched and swelled with pink, satiny skin. He laughed under his breath as he lowered his hand and gave over to it, taking a breath and diving in, merging fully with her. Her hands found his cheek and caressed gently, cradling his head while pouring all the love filling her body into her touch, into the joining of their lips and the slow delving of her tongue. She sighed, savoring the tender moment, the adorable grumbling of his deep voice about the interruption as it faded into submission to her exploring mouth.

She closed her eyes and concentrated on the sensual experience of him, the coarseness of the stubble coating his jaw and neck, present again despite starting the evening clean-shaven. The softness of velvety flesh pulled over sharp cheekbones and angled brows, the smooth fibers of his hair, pulling like curled silk between her fingers. The distinctive natural fragrance of him, woodsy and musky and the most delicious thing she'd ever breathed. His heart thudded against hers, the chill of his hands on her waist like heavy blocks of ice resting on the off-side of her dress, but she didn't mind.

How many more ways could she tell him that she loved him? It seemed that all the things she thought up, all the ways she tried to express it were paltry, insufficient tokens that barely lessened the need to keep trying. There was still so much of it dammed up inside that felt like it needed to come out, an ocean's worth of adulation that only lost a drop or two with each attempt at expression. There was no option but to continue trying, no way she could hold it all in without continuing to seek some measure of relief. His head fell back, surrendered to the worship in her hands and lips. She breathed him in reverently, bringing the air he expelled deeply into her lungs, wanting to pull him inside her and hold him there until the overwhelming need to bathe him in love had been satisfied.

There was a vow in her heart, a soulful promise to be anything he needed, at any time, in any place, consequences and Inquisition be damned. To be his partner, his defender, his servant, his lover, to fight beside him in whatever battles life brought. She'd known it was there since the beginning, and had acted the part without trying, but faced with such a sickening prospect as forcing him unwillingly back into addiction, the vow became a mantra, cried loudly into her cells with every heartbeat. Whatever she could do would be done, and if she failed — Maker be damned — she would nurse him through the aftermath, until he was whole and well again. Cullen was  _life_. He was love and strength and endurance and devotion, determination over hardship, evolution and growth, steadfastness through time and space, and every good thing that Avery cherished and needed to see preserved, so that one day he could pass what he was into their children.

The kiss came to a quiet end with a squeeze of the arms and a gentle sigh.

"How long have we been here now?" he asked in a whisper.

"I have no idea. Quite a while, I think."

He sighed again, a resigned, reluctant purging of breath, and he barely needed to say what it meant.

She pressed down the disappointment and climbed off of him, seeing the black sky out the towering windows behind them, a darkness that she hoped meant the night would be drawing to a close soon. If they'd hadn't already wasted so much time in an unexpectedly sleepy embrace, she would be trying to make love to him right then, trying to join with his body to release the pressure of the overbearing love she contained. But a stolen half hour of rest in his arms, or however long it had been, would have to do.

She relished the quiet understanding between them, words becoming superfluous and clunky compared to the appreciation shown in the sparkle of an eye, the soft caress of a hand or pair of lips, the renewal in his demeanor as he slipped out the door, ready to tackle another hour or two of activities he despised. He left her with a smile that was as warm as a kiss and a last attempt to fix her smudged eyeliner, before giving up with a laugh and an apologetic shrug, and rushing away to resume his post.

Leliana found her quickly.

"So Mahanon was trying to find Cullen, after a very enlightening encounter he had with the Grand Duchess, but Cullen was no where to be found. And then along came the duke's brother, wandering dangerously close to Mahanon, so I began looking for  _you_ , and you too were no where to be found. And then I see you both magically reappearing from the same general location within about five minutes of each other. Interesting coincidence."

"Yes. Very interesting," Avery agreed.

"And your eyeliner is smudged," she said.

"I'm tired and I accidentally rubbed my eyes."

"I actually believe that one. You do look tired," said Leliana.

Avery snorted, "Well, good, I think. And yes, Cullen and I did sneak away, but nobody saw us."

Leliana stopped short and turned to look at Avery with a barely hidden grimace. "Please don't do that again," she asked firmly. "You know how bad it will look if anyone even suspects. Rumors about you and Mahanon have already been dominating most of the conversation and it's becoming a bit of a nuisance. I can only imagine how much worse it would get."

"What are the rumors?"

"Nothing too unexpected… just that you made the Inquisition late because you two were too busy having sex in the bushes, that you've cast some dark love spell on him so you could secretly manipulate the Inquisition, that he's only with you because you're the Champion and he idolizes you, or that he's a mage sympathizer, or because you have a fetish for elves… take your pick on that one. There are several others as well, some far less flattering due to Mahanon being Dalish, and all a bunch of nonsense of course. But that doesn't stop anyone."

Avery laughed, feeling almost honored that anyone might give her credit for the Inquisition, even if due to spells and manipulation. She snagged a glass of champagne off a passing tray and downed it quickly, setting the empty flute back onto the next passing tray. Another set of familiar elf eyes landed on her, but they quickly looked away, seemingly afraid to acknowledge her familiarity. Kicked puppies indeed.

"Yes, it's all very hilarious," Leliana said in an unamused deadpan. They reached the ballroom and Leliana slowed as they approached, watching Mahanon and Cullen talk quietly between themselves. Cullen's groupies remained close, whispering to each other as they cast hidden glances toward the two men, and Avery distinctly heard the words "knife-ear" buried within the susurration of voices. She bristled on Mahanon's behalf and couldn't help but glower, searching for the shiny little doll eyes hidden beneath the masks. Were these people truly so shallow?

She almost laughed at her own absurd question. One need only to look at the efforts they put into their costumes for an answer.

"When Mahanon and the Commander are done speaking you need to get him out of here," Leliana warned. "Or at least distract him until William is gone. Please."

"Question. Does William know that the clan he helped slaughter was Anon's? There can only be so many Lavellan clans around, right?" Avery asked.

"My little birds say he doesn't know. I find that hard to believe, but his behavior here suggests that he truly doesn't, so as unlikely as it may be, it is possible they are correct."

"He's not very smart then, huh?"

"Apparently not," Leliana confirmed.

Avery nodded and grabbed another glass of champagne. It wasn't helping the tiredness, but it was making all the tedium a bit easier to bear. Leliana raised an eyebrow.

"What? I don't have to do anything or talk to anyone here, besides you and Mahanon. I'm just supposed to be here for  _fun_." Leliana gave a little shrug and looked away, casting her eyes toward the dancers down on the ballroom floor.

Eventually, after what felt to her tired mind like an exceedingly long stretch of time, Anon joined them at the balustrade. She felt him before she heard or saw him, the first indication of his presence being his hand sliding into place at the small of Avery's back. She stiffened instinctively, and after a warning glance from Leliana, forced herself to loosen up again, trying to ignore the fact that Cullen was only several paces behind them. Leliana gave a nod and moved away, joining Cullen for a quick exchange of hushed whispers, before floating off into the crowd.

Anon pulled Avery by the waist and she glanced up at him to see a smear of blood behind his ear. Instinctively she reached up to wipe it away, rubbing hard at the stubborn dried streak, and then glanced over his face and throat for more splatter and seeing a few random spots, but nothing too noticeable. He raised an eyebrow and watched her quietly, seemingly amused.

"Got to go have a little fun, did you?" she asked.

He nodded, his lips curling in a pleased confirmation.

"I did. There are some very interesting things afoot…" he said. "I would tell you more, but we are running out of time, and I'm pretty sure this man over there is talking about something that I need to know."

He pulled her directly toward the man, keeping his gait leisurely and slow, and then settled them nonchalantly between two groups of people who were also watching the dancers over the balustrade. The man in question wore an Orlesian military uniform, and talked in a thick accent that Avery didn't have the energy to try to decipher, and she tuned him out almost immediately. Her interest in the political machinations of the court had long since dissolved anyway, and instead she glanced around the room to try to find the duke's brother. The familiar blue coat loitered in the far end of the room, with his back turned, apparently flirting with the frilly, doll-like Orlesian before him. Avery took a deep breath, and another sip of champagne. The warmth of Anon's body spread over her right side as he rested against her, a ticklish touch streaming up and down the bare skin of her back as his fingertips lightly caressed. She turned her head to look at him pointedly.

"We've got to make this look believable, right?" he asked with a smirk and a small shrug.

"Whatever happened to that whole 'make the other ladies jealous and throw themselves at you' business that I was supposed to be doing… after which I could go away and do whatever I want? You do remember that part of ordering me to be your date, don't you?"

Anon snorted. "I failed to consider the masks." She looked at him quietly and waited for him to continue. "How am I to know if I even  _want_  any of these women to throw themselves at me? You can't even tell their ages, unless you can see their hands. But many are wearing gloves. It's like a game of Antivan roulette, except you could end up accidentally bedding a golem."

She shook her head and snorted a laugh.

"Do you think the true reason for all the masks is because of how hideous they are?" he asked. "I bet some of the nobles just want to cover up the obvious signs of inbreeding." She laughed a little more loudly that time, and his smile widened while his fingertips slowed, running up and down the hem of her dress until shivers traveled up her spine. Her laugh was cut short, with the memory that Cullen was probably watching them and she squirmed a little under his touch. But he didn't stop, continuing to grow bolder and bolder with his attentions.

"Are you that anxious to be rid of me? I thought we were sort of… bonding," he asked. She sighed tiredly and looked down onto the dancefloor, watching a woman in a pink dress dance with the straightest, most rigid looking back she'd ever seen.

"Aren't you supposed to be paying attention to  _them_?" she asked, nodding toward the man in the military suit. He stopped a moment and went still, not moving a muscle for several long seconds. Then he shook his head.

"Not yet," he whispered. "I'm sure they'll come back around to Gaspard though, if we just wait."

She felt the tip of his finger slip just under the hem of her dress and wriggled away from it, trying to make it look like she was just shifting her weight. She was about to ask exactly how 'believable' he intended for them to look, when a neatly manicured hand flitted around the military man and toward Anon, trying to get his attention.

"Champagne," the woman barked at Anon, beginning to snap her fingers. The military man took a half step out of the way to allow the woman to speak more directly, standing aside as though it was something he was used to doing. Avery glanced around Anon to see a gilded mask, encrusted with jewels and set above a ridiculously high collar that almost obscured painted, medicinally pink lips. Avery looked at her in disbelief, but Anon only raised an eyebrow, completely unsurprised. He was quiet, his jaw clenching noticeably while the woman continued. "No, nevermind, not champagne. The '38 Antivan white. I don't want any from an already open bottle, so go fetch a fresh one."

Avery leaned deeply over the balustrade to get a better look, her ears still trying to process the haughty entitlement that dripped from the words. Anon flashed her a glance that said "I told you."

She unfurled her fists and took a deep breath, inexplicably feeling as though the insulting condescension had been directed at her. Forcing a smile, Avery spoke through gritted teeth at the woman.

"The Inquisitor is not a dog. He does not  _fetch_."

The woman's gaze snapped over to Avery, her lips parted in a retort that she was clearly reconsidering. Instead she stood up straight while the man came forward, returning to his place with a sharp glance over his shoulder.

Anon only shook his head and sneered a quiet, bitter laugh. "See? We're bonding. Varric said that you were protective of your friends."

He sighed and wrapped his arm around her waist again.

"I guess this means we're friends, then? Despite the whole lyrium business. Which, I have to ask, are you sure you're stuck on Cullen? Could you imagine how legendary it would be if the Inquisitor and the Champion really were to-"

Avery groaned, squirming quickly out of his grasp and walking away. Clearly he wasn't going to get anything out of military man anyway, not after he and his companion had learned who they were standing beside. Avery hesitated in the middle of the floor for a moment, not entirely sure where she should go from there. Anon came up from behind, taking her newly emptied champagne flute out of her hand and passing her a fresh one. She scowled as she took it.

"I'll fetch for  _you_ ," he purred teasingly. Avery rolled her eyes, her gaze landing momentarily on an exceedingly displeased looking Cullen.

"Well thanks, but don't," she hissed.

"Oh lighten up, Hawke."

After another moment of waiting, he snatched the flute of fresh champagne, downing the sparkling liquid himself in a single gulp. He set both empty glasses down at a nearby table, grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the rear of the room. She winced inwardly as they made their way straight for the the corner that held the duke's brother. Another glance behind her revealed Cullen's lips pulled into a tight line and his amber eyes following them around the room. He shifted uncomfortably while snapping a curt response to one of his persistent admirers. She wanted to call out to him, to throw her hands up in exasperation, to yank away from Anon and go stand by herself somewhere for a while, but Cullen wasn't the only one watching. Like the glowing eyes of a forest full of predators, the holes of masks were turned toward her, shimmering and ravenous for more meat for the slaughter. As she glanced from porcelain face to porcelain face she saw gears turning behind the glassy eyes, lips murmuring almost imperceptibly as they commented to their companions. With a frustrated sigh Avery relented, turning to step into sync with Anon as they made their way deeper into the ballroom.

She bit her tongue against all the admonishments streaming through her mind. She wanted to tell him he shouldn't be drinking, even if it was just champagne. That all the extra touches and caresses were crossing the line, that there were plenty of other couples present who didn't need feel the need to fawn all over each other in that manner, that she was beginning to suspect he was just antagonizing Cullen again. Her annoyance only grew as she lingered on that last point. After the conversation they'd had so recently, she admittedly had softened a little bit toward him, unable to help herself from relating to his situation, simply because it was a fact that she definitely  _could_. But a quiet little voice began to ask if Anon might have it in him to try entice Cullen into an incident via casually inflicted stress, in an attempt perhaps to end the stalemate on the issue of lyrium so that it could just be finished and no longer a distraction.

But she didn't have enough information yet to support that conclusion, and she certainly wasn't sure that's what he was trying to do here in full view of everyone. It seemed much more likely that he was simply behaving as any young adult does, rebelling against figures of authority and flaunting his freedom, led by a surplus of confidence and libido. Cullen might not have technically been in command of Anon, but he had the authoritative bearing, the deference and respect of everyone else Anon worked with, earning him the automatic assumption of superiority from onlookers not directly in the know. There was no question that someone younger might view Cullen as an authority to be defied, even if his actual role was only to share his wisdom and direct a separate legion of men.

Anon pulled her back to the balustrade, tilting his head slightly as he listened to a small group of men behind him. Cullen was well out of earshot, but a glance in his direction revealed that he was still in full view of her and Anon. And even closer, on the other side of them, was William, the duke of Wycome's brother. He at least seemed to have been seeing some success with his female target, as she smiled brightly and fluttered nervous fingers over her dress while she giggled.

Avery collapsed against the rail, wishing for the millionth time that the night just bloody end already. Slipping once again over her bared back was Anon's hand as his body lingered close, leaning in now to whisper in her ear.

"Not much longer, and then you'll be free to go ravish our Commander for the rest of the night," he said as out of nowhere he presented another full champagne flute. She eyed it and then him, seeing the elven servant retreating from her peripheral vision.

"They're taking very good care of me," Anon remarked as his eye flitted to the disappearing elven girl. "I found them a little while ago and apologized, and you wouldn't believe the information they had to share. The servants always know way more than their masters expect," Anon motioned again for Avery to take the champagne.

"Well that's very nice," she answered honestly. "I am sure they appreciated the apology." He shook his head and thrust the glass into her hand, all but forcing her to take it.

She raised a disapproving eyebrow. "Are you trying to get me drunk, Inquisitor?"

He laughed lightly, "well it would make things a lot more pleasant if you weren't so tense. Besides it'd be nice not to be the  _only_  drunk one here." She frowned. It had been at least ninety minutes, if not a full two hours since she'd had to stick her fingers down his throat. A normal person would be close to sober by now.

"You're still drunk?"

"Well, I might have had a glass or two of these. Maybe a little more, when no one was looking."

"Well that explains a few things. But, honestly, why in the Void would you do that?" she asked, not trying to hide her frown. She had no choice but to whisper back in his ear with as crowded a section as they were in, and his cheek hovered mere inches from her mouth, tendrils of shiny dark blonde hair tickling against her shoulder and neck. She couldn't deny that the man smelled good, sort of summery and green, like a blossoming Dalish field, which she realized was how she imagined most Dalish probably smelled. And his touch, as much as she wished there was less of it, was sensuous and warm and continued to give her the shivers. She'd even had to stand with her arms strategically placed a few times in order to hide the straining points of her nipples, from him as much as anyone else. That all changed absolutely nothing of course, other than make her wish that he was a little less charismatic, so that it might be easier for her to keep her defensive wall high and strong. But she supposed it was better than constantly recoiling in horror.

"Because. I already told you earlier. Fuck these people. Celene will stay on the throne, with Briala's help… and I don't really give a shit what happens from there. And it's all practically done anyway. Once the would-be assassin is taken care of, then it's finished. "

"And you're so confident that you've got the approval of the court for that move? A Dalish who's already been insulted repeatedly and mistaken for a servant just has all the nobility sitting pretty under his thumb?" she asked. He gave a cocky shrug. "I don't need  _everyone's_  approval. Only a few of the most important people. And that I have. All those times you were sneaking away and disappearing, I was actually getting things done," he said. "Like I always do."

She tried to resist rolling her eyes again, more conscious than ever of how closely they were being watched. She only hoped that no one nearby was a lip reader.

"I think you  _do_  need everyone's approval. Isn't that the whole point of the Game?"

He shrugged again. "I'm never going to have anyone's no matter what I do, thanks to these," he said as he gestured up at his ears.

He turned to face her, his eyes shining warmly as he kept his lips curled into an ever-present smirk. She pulled away and looked down to the dancefloor, trying to keep her face a placid and serene. With a sigh, she sipped the last of the champagne, feeling her head grow all the more lighter, her body looser. Anon took the empty flute from her hands and almost immediately a servant materialized at his side.

"Ma serannas," he whispered, sending the petite girl away with a wink.

She cast a quick glance up at him and froze, seeing the duke's brother not only walking straight toward them, but slowing as he and his female friend aimed themselves directly toward the new gap of space immediately on the other side of Mahanon. So much for eavesdropping, she realized. He hadn't even noticed the men he was supposedly listening in on had left. An icy chill ran down her back as William boomed a loud laugh, and Anon began to turn toward him, wanting apparently to get a good look at his new neighbor. With a jolt Avery jumped into action, wrapping her arm around Anon's waist and pulling him this time, pasting a smile onto her face as she looked at him reassuringly. She glanced around. They could dance some more? They could just walk? But where to? Nearby were a set of towering blue doors, and she went straight for them.

"I… need some air… if that's okay?" she asked. He raised an eyebrow, stopping the same servant girl and acquiring yet more champagne. Avery kept her face perfectly still, trying not to frown, not to groan, not to give any sign of her abject disapproval at his continued pursuit for intoxication. Instead she took the new flute, vowing quietly that it would be her last even if she had to sip the same damn one for the rest of the night, and pulled him toward the balcony doors. His smile grew wider as they got closer, his hand around her waist pulling her tight against him and the bristle of anxiety morphed, becoming a worry that he was reading wrongly into her suggestion. And Cullen, from however short a distance, was seeing it all too. There could be no mistaking Anon's smoldering eyes as he pawed at her like a teenager, pressing his body into her side and retreating toward greater privacy with a lascivious smile. She glanced at Cullen, trying to plead for understanding with her eyes. His face in return was as cold as stone and he looked away before they even reached the door.

He understood, she told herself. They bloody well both needed to understand. Anon had to know, somewhere inside that hazy brain of his, that she wasn't actually having a split-second change of heart about his advances. And Cullen had to have been informed by Leliana of her task at directing Anon away from William, and the woman damned well better have included her explanation of insisting upon  _whatever means necessary._  And the fact was that Avery hadn't actually truly done anything, other than pull him away and suggest some air. Still the guilt weighed heavily, and she was sure it wouldn't look nearly as questionable had Anon not been attached to her physically at every opportunity. She groaned under her breath as she slipped through the door, her mind reeling as her chest fluttered with the frantic thumping of her heart. She immediately released Anon and pulled away, walking over to the farthest railing and taking a deep breath of the cool night air. Anon joined her, his hands on her again, on her waist, her back, her elbow, her upper arm, all places that should have been reserved for  _Cullen_ , but she blocked it out. As long as his hands didn't wander too far, as long as he wasn't kissing her or trying to burrow under her clothing, she wasn't sure there was much she could do other than occasionally pull away.

"Anon," she began and he was immediately looking into her face, hovering close despite the lack of observers on the balcony. "Can you just… ease up a little please? And control those roving fucking fingers, would you?" Without moving his smirk, he took a step away, acquiescing with a slight bow. She breathed a thank you and tried to roll some of the tension out of her neck. He was right that she was tense. Of course she was fucking tense.

"You love him very much," he commented. She looked at him with barely concealed confusion and nodded.

"You both definitely seem happy," he said.

"We are," she sighed.

He nodded as he watched her, and Avery wanted to relax, but she didn't trust this new line of commentary. It was such a quick turn from the pawing hands even moments earlier. Maker, the kid had a talent for keeping her completely off balance.

"I'm sorry I'm coming on too strong. The fact is, you're a beautiful woman and you look breathtaking tonight. Plus, you may have heard from Varric that I have been an admirer of yours for a long time."

Avery let herself relax a little then, watching him warily. "To be honest, I'm still finding it a little surreal that I got to have the Champion of Kirkwall as my date at all. I should probably be thanking Cullen, huh?"

"Or you could thank, you know…  _me,"_ she said with a shake of her head.

"Yeah, but if Cullen had actually wanted to come with you, then you'd be here with him."

"It's not that Cullen didn't  _want_ ….." She sighed. She was too tired to rehash that argument. "Fuck it. Look, you're welcome."

Anon laughed quietly at her, his dark eyes glinting. A soft breeze rustled through the trees around them and she heard the latch on the blue door turn. The music of the ballroom trickled out onto the balcony, and peeking between the growing gap in the doors came a smiling, mustached face over a blue coat. Avery groaned as a shot of anxiety sparked through her stomach. Exactly the man they had been trying to avoid. Anon cast an uninterested glimpse at the man, and then turned away again, and Avery straightened up, searching her mind for a reason to pull him right back out of there again. Already got enough air. Sorry I need to use the washroom. Lets go get some more champagne (despite the full glass in her hand). She sighed. She supposed any of those would work. Maker this only continued to get more tedious.

"Pardon me," came a familiar voice. "My apologies, but I need to have a private conversation with these two out here if you wouldn't mind coming back in a little while?"

The mustache man looked confused for a moment, and turned to glance at his companion.

"I believe the balcony on that side of the room is free."

The blue coat turned away, and with a grateful nod, Cullen emerged, closing the large doors behind him. Avery couldn't help the smile that crept over her face as she watched him approach. His eyes met hers with a golden smolder as he walked calmly across the balcony, and for a moment Avery forgot that Anon was even present. At least until the slender man slid in beside her, grasping her once again by the waist. She turned to look pointedly at him.

"What? There are windows… people can still see us. And the way you look at Cullen, people will wonder…" Anon explained with a shrug.

Cullen stopped before them, not taking his burning eyes off Avery, and she tried to suppress her grin. There was truth in Anon's words, that she knew. She looked away, down to her feet, over to the trees, up into the stars, but her eyes found their way right back to Cullen as though they had a mind of their own. He'd yet to even acknowledge Anon. She was glad he seemed not to have any worries about them after all.

"Unless you're worried I'm really trying to steal you from him," Anon added.

Cullen snorted a laugh as his eyes caressed their way down her neck, to the tops of her shoulders, along the neckline of her dress. She almost shivered at the hunger she saw there, the way he was eating her up.  _Maker bless this dress._

"Do your worst, Inquisitor," Cullen said with a sultry confidence, still not even glancing at Anon. " _I'm_  not worried."

His scarred lip curled just enough to make Avery's cheeks flush hot and her legs go numb. In almost an instant a roaring fire was raging deep in her belly, radiating out from between her legs. There was, of course, nothing for him to worry about. She was utterly and completely  _his._

"So, then," began Anon, readjusting his hand and squeezing her waist. "What did you need to discuss, Commander?"

The was a heartbeat's silence as Cullen seemed to come up with a reason for his rerouting of the duke's brother, and Avery wondered if he'd already had anything in mind. The last thing they needed was for Anon to begin to question their efforts.

"That elf servant you sent to me for protection had some disturbing things to say about Briala," Cullen stated without missing a beat. "And yet Bull says you intend to let her stay with Celene regardless? Are you sure that's wise?"

Avery felt her eyes glaze over as she realized she had no idea what they were talking about. She stood quietly and listened.

"Briala's crimes are the least of my worries," Anon said.

"Even despite that correspondence you found mentioning some mysterious weapon she has in her possession?" Cullen continued with a subtle scowl.

Anon laughed derisively, "yeah, correspondence from  _Gaspard_. And who knows if that's true. People can say whatever they want in letters. Besides, none these fools have clean hands. At this point it's just choosing the lesser of three evils."

Cullen's scowl eased away and he gave an accepting nod, clearly seeing he wasn't going to succeed at convincing Anon differently. His eyes flicked back to Avery.

"Is he treating you well, my dear?"

Avery looked over to Anon, who was watching her with great interest, his face and body still hovering entirely too close.

"Aside from being a bit handsy," she commented, nudging a sharp elbow into Anon's ribs..

Anon laughed and gave her another dramatic squeeze. "Aren't you even going to tell him about the kiss?"

Cullen raised an eyebrow, but continued to look unconcerned.

"You thought  _that_  was a kiss?" Avery laughed. She looked back to Cullen with a shrug. "It was only to throw off any nosy guards. And he has been informed that with every attempted kiss, I get to hit him.  _Hard._  In the face. While you watch."

With another snort, Cullen's eyes turned warm, holding hers for a long, breathless moment before traveling down her body again.

"Well then. By all means," he smirked approvingly, giving a little bow, before turning to walk out the blue doors.

Anon released her and took a deep breath. Taking several steps away and then spinning around to face her, his face giddy and astonished. He looked her up and down for a moment.

"Gods, even  _I'm_  turned on by how he hard he was just eye-fucking you," he gasped. Avery laughed some more and finished the glass of champagne, setting down the empty flute on a small table nearby.

"Has he ever been with a man?" Anon asked. She laughed again and shook her head.

"Fuck, I'll bet the sex you two have is…" he let his words trail off and Avery watched with amusement as he turned away from the windows and adjusted the new bulge at his crotch. He finished and turned again, looking at her with a dark glint in his eye. "What if…  _I_ wanted to watch? He wouldn't have to do anything he doesn't normally-"

Avery laughed even louder now, the glass of champagne making her feel light, Cullen's confidence reducing her to a mass of over-stimulated nerves, driven unexpectedly shaky with lust. It suddenly occurred to her that though she'd taken Cullen in her mouth, she'd yet to receive any plundering herself. And now it seemed that was exactly what she desperately needed.

A quick flash of movement in the yard below them caught both of their eye, and they were still for a long moment while they waited, looking deeply into the shadows for the movement to come again. Avery saw nothing, but Anon eventually must have.

"Huh," he said, and then sighed nonchalantly. "More ventatori maybe?" His back straightened, and that look of focus washed over his face. "I suppose it's probably time to end this. Thank you for the pleasure of your company tonight, Hawke, and for putting up with this Dalish pain in the ass. If you and Cullen ever think you want-"

"Not gonna happen, Inquisitor," she cut him off with an apologetic shrug.

He laughed, gave a bow, and was gone.

Avery stood alone, looking dumbly at the blue doors after they'd swung closed. Was it possible that the end really was imminent? And without any further disasters? It almost felt too good to be true.


	22. Chapter 22

Avery watched eagerly out the window of her assigned quarters, looking for the shadowy silhouette that would mean Cullen had emerged. He'd said he'd wait an hour after everyone retired before venturing out, and asked sweetly that she stay in the red dress until then. Luckily, the garment had grown into a sort of second skin, and it was no hardship to lounge about in it for an hour, as much as she might have wanted to indulge in the bath for the second time that day. But the servants already had their hands full cleaning up after the ball, and Avery didn't want to burden them further by asking them to fill her tub again, on top of everything else.

The night had been a success by all accounts. The would-be assassin turned out the be the Grand Duchess, and after what Anon recounted as a particularly brutal battle, he'd offed her in some remote courtyard that also harbored a fade rift. There was a bit of a show when he returned, and the court seemed to take his decisions in stride.

But Cullen seemed to do well, thanks in part, she assumed, to their little secret rendezvous. Noone found out about Anon's failed attempt at spending the night in a drunken, greif-stricken blackout state. William turned out to be a non-issue aside from the one brush by the balcony. Anon was now a bit less of a mystery to Avery than he had been before, and at some point in to near future she would get to punch in him the face. Overall the night had been long, stressful and fraught with close calls, but now it was blessedly, thankfully over.

Deciding not to linger in her room any longer, Avery opened one of the glass paned doors to the courtyard, and let herself out in the cool night air. Overhead the sky was a deep black, illuminated with a dense, silvery spray of twinkling stars, and it was just cool enough to make her rub her bare arms as she walked barefoot out into the thick grass. The windows of the other rooms around the courtyard were glowing softly as shadows moved about within. And from one room at the far end of the courtyard came the rolicking sounds of a small group who apparently had decided to extend the party. She sat in the grass, no longer caring whether the dress got wrinkled or grass stained, and looked up into the shining expanse of stars. Something about the night sky, about finding the sudden moment of peace within a whirlwind of activity, reminded her of the ledge back in Kirkwall. There had been a few nights that she'd ventured out into the chaos of those city streets after dark, in order to sit alone under the stars and take a breath to clear her mind. On those nights too the fantasy of Cullen coming to find her had been foremost in her mind, same at it was now. She smiled as she pressed down a yawn, thinking yet again about how so very much had changed, and somehow, a number of important things remained exactly the same.

Cullen had looked unbearably dashing throughout the night, his dark eyes following her around the room whenever they'd been within view of each other. Anon had been… Anon. But none of what he did or said seemed to matter now that everything was over. Avery fingered the thick, cool blades of grass below her as she thought back over their conversation about Cullen taking lyrium. As long as there were no more incidents, he'd said. It only made things all the more complicated that she could now fully understand his perfectly understandable reasoning.

Perhaps his opinion might be swayed further if Anon were made to know the trouble with such a request. Perhaps if he had a better understanding of the agony of withdrawals, he might be less cavalier about dooming a man to a terrible addiction. Maybe one or two of Cullen's letters might prove enlightening, if Cullen didn't disapprove of her sharing them. Or maybe Avery could sit him down for a deeper conversation on the subject, and attempt to educate him, attempt to make the struggles real and visceral and not just an abstract concept that stands between him and his idea of success. Maybe she could plea, or bargain or compromise. Of course she'd need to be more educated herself to accomplish such a task. She took another deep breath and tried to promise herself to more time in the wagons on the way back to Skyhold, to read the letters, finally. So she could stop wondering. Stop feeling guilty about putting it off. She'd almost pulled them out while she sat inside and waited, but thought better of putting a damper on her mood before Cullen came to find her.

Not far away, she heard the soft opening of a door, and she turned to locate the source. Cullen was no longer in his suit, at least not the coat, which was replaced by his usual white linen tunic. He retained the breeches and padded toward her in bare feet, his face lit up in a smile that warmed even the cool darkness of the night. She stood quickly, brushing the grass off her thighs and thought better of rushing to him. They were assuming no one would take an interest in the two of them meeting up now, but the fact was they were surrounded by windows, and had no idea who might be peering out them. Not that it particularly mattered now that they were no longer in the ballroom and at the mercy of the court.

He had no such concerns apparently, and was at her in a rush. Avery had to stop herself from groaning wantonly as his hands cupped her face and brought it quickly to his. His lips, his scent, the warmth in his touch, the bulky strength in his broad back, all of it had returned, and she grasped the sleeves of his tunic and tried to keep the uncontrolled emitting of her voice as quiet as she could while she pulled him toward her room.

They were inside, door slamming behind them before she really got her bearings, and as soon as the light hit her he'd pulled away, standing back to take her in once again with dark, hungry eyes. The aching desire between her legs had not disappeared, only just dulled in the time since she'd seen him on the balcony, when he'd  _eye-fucked_  her as Anon had so eloquently put it. And here he was doing it again, his amber gaze striking against her skin like the lashing of a tongue, his face held in a reverent daze while his eyes traveled intensely over her, taking in her skin, her body, the waist of her dress, the mounds of her breasts, before meeting her own aroused stare and staying there.

All at once he attacked, charging with a look in his eye that melted her insides to jelly. Before she could prepare herself with a deep breath, she was caught up in his arms, beating against him in a lusty fury while clawing at the unwelcome barriers of his clothing, yanking his breeches open and kicking them down his legs, pulling the tunic over his head after it resisted her efforts to shred it. His cock was a pulsating rod of stone, slamming against her belly like an ancient, felled tree trunk and she grasped it as thought it was her lifeline, sliding her hand up and down the slippery skin while he hoisted up her skirts, ripping her smalls off in two quick, powerful jerks. She'd experienced so many levels of need for him already, from a slow burning craving to an insistent, terminal desperation, and this seemed to surpass all them. A whole night of being taunted by Anon's roving hands, taunted by the beautiful, elegantly suited Commander standing tall within his gathering of admirers, the knowledge that she alone captivated his attention among so many who were trying for the same, added to glass after glass of champagne, the peculiar stimulation of feeling especially confident and desirable, and an eye-fucking the likes of which she'd never experienced before and she felt as though she'd been dosed with an aphrodesiac of the highest order. The smalls Cullen dispatched so quickly had been positively soaked, her insides clenching and contracting in unbearable anticipation. She almost laughed at the mere memory of the suggestion that she reconsider Cullen for Anon. No man, nor mere fantasy of a man, nor  _two men together_ , had ever taken her to such dizzying heights of desire, and there was not even the wisp of a question that Cullen was It. He was The One. The End. She'd known that for a long time, and that knowing had been confirmed again and again and again, all the moreso for the freedom they'd gained in their new life in Skyhold.

While normally content to obey Cullen's commanding hands, tonight was different. When he pushed, she pushed back. When he came in for a hard kiss, she met his force with equal fervor. She sucked on his tongue like it was his cock, bit his lips until he gasped, dug her fingers into the firmness of his flesh until she was the one to leave bruises behind. His fingers were pressing into her soaking slit and she jumped into his arms, bearing down upon his hand while trusting implicitly that he would catch her and hold her into place. She sucked on the bristling skin of his neck, no longer caring what marks might be left behind for all to see, scoring fingernails over his scalp as he grunted and thrust upward toward her throbbing entrance. When finally his cock breached the confines of her sex, she didn't bother even trying to keep her voice down. Let the whole fucking courtyard hear the carnal, brutal lovemaking that none of them would ever come close to emulating.

She crashed against the wall, her back pressed into the solid barrier of wood and stone behind her, while another solid mass of cock and flesh pressed against her belly and chest, his mouth gasping for air between desperate, impassioned kisses. She was growling and writhing, clutching against him as she defied the insistent request of gravity to come back down to the ground. His cock pushed deeper and deeper within with every surging thrust upward, aided by the downward push of her hips, scorching within the electrified walls of her cunt. She opened her eyes for a brief moment to a flash of light, a traveling vein of lightning as it coursed up her arms, her magic spilling forth as barriers were demolished with the force of their bodies. Her inner walls were being mercilessly stimulated, the thick ramming cockhead pounding her livewire network of nerves, shooting sweet bolts of orgasmic stimulation up her spine, and out along her skin, down to fingertips and toes and the furthest reaches of her body, and somehow, impossibly, out even further than that.

In another blurry whirl she was set back down on the ground, his strong hand on her back as he bent her over a table, one hand reaching over her shoulder down into the dress to grasp a swollen breast, his hand flailing to free her mounds from their blood-red constraints of fabric. His hand retreated and fell upon her back, his fingers curling under the hem of her bodice and with another jerk and a tear it was ripped loose, falling forward to free her breasts, which began bounce unhindered as his cock sought reentry from behind. She arched her back, sticking her butt out at an angle that helped him, urged him to find its place within her again. He grunted his satisfaction as his cock sank deeply inside of her, landing on a pulsating center of sweet aching while fingers grabbed the bones of her hips, pulling her back at the same time he thrust forward.

She let her satisfaction ring loud throughout the room, her voice bouncing off the walls as he slammed again and again into that special spot deep inside, forcing her into an almost immediate state of delirious bliss. She felt her voice follow the waves of silky sweetness as they washed upward from her cunt, flowing up her back, jarring her brain loose within her skull, rendering everything solid and static within the room to a state of swirling oneness. Her cries became whines as the orgasm approached something akin to suffering, breaching the boundaries of her body and becoming bigger than she could contain. Each slam of his hips into the flesh of her ass unleashed a new tsunami of shuddering pleasure, winding and undulating, reducing her to a feral state where all that existed was hunger and satiation, bones and meat and their mingling nectar as he obeyed the calling of their bodies to join, to merge and meld.

"Fuck," she gasped as the orgasm waned but didn't subside completely, dipping only for a moment before quickly careening into another one, and finally she gave up the resistance in her body, laying her chest down onto the cool surface of the table and just letting it come while she whimpered, keening and sobbing. The sensations were so intense she wasn't sure what was pleasure and what was pain anymore, but all of it was necessary, all of it was welcome and wonderful and it was Cullen, driving her home, again and again, filling the air with the sounds of flesh on flesh, with the carnal cries of rutting animals in heat.

"Fuck," she whined again, on the verge of tears for the powerful, resounding waves of sensation flooding through and out of her with each measured thrust of his hips. She wanted to see him when he came, but she was done, spent, destroyed. She felt him arch against her, she felt the flood of warmth almost spill from her pleasantly stinging core, the pulsing thrusts of his hips as he unleashed his seed. He grunted, growled, quiet and intense, her body pressed against the tabletop as he fell on top of her, covering back with the ripple muscles of his heaving chest.

She felt eviscerated by the power of his cock, and it was profoundly satisfying. Every muscle that she'd held tense throughout the ball was now as limber as flowing water, every kink in her neck jarred free, every wrinkle and line from repeated frowning and wincing smoothed out like the glassy surface of a peaceful pond. She was limp and helpless against the top of the table until Cullen peeled her off, and pushed the tattered remains of her dress down her body, standing her up on legs as shaky as a newborn foal's.

"Maker's breath," he sighed serenely as he folded her into his arms. Magically the bed floated closer and she was nestled within.

"Was that too much?" came Cullen's raspy voice as he settled down beside her, carefully pulling the braids from her hair until her scalp was freed from bindings she hadn't even realized had begun to grow painful. It took her a moment to comprehend his question.

"I may never stop smiling," she said in return. Was she smiling? She thought she was. She felt like she was. If she had a face, it had to be smiling. There was no way it could be doing anything else after the sound stripping of her over-wound nerves she'd received. It had been everything she'd hoped for throughout the night, and so much more.

"I'm guessing that means it was not, in fact, too much," he laughed quietly, his fingers picking through the nest of her hair to untie another braid.

"Can you do that again?" she asked. Was she drunk? She felt drunk. She felt a million different things, and nothing, all at once. Nothing except perhaps blissfully, perilously, terminally in love.

He laughed louder this time.

"I might wait until you've recovered a bit," he said. She sighed, and nuzzled against him, content to wait until the time was right to receive the force of his beautiful body again.

His whimpers pulled her out of her dream, and such a beautiful dream it had been. Cullen and Avery danced through the ballroom, kissing as they moved and all but making love before a million lecherous eyes. Bodies crowded about, emitting roars of whispers with every step they took together, but Cullen's gaze never wavered, trained devotedly on her as though no one else existed. In the crowd was a sea of Orlesian masks, as well as Meredith, Ser Thrask, Gamlen, Anders, Fenris, Isabela, everyone she'd loved and despised, or feared might retaliate against her and Cullen simply because they loved each other. She saw shiny bodies in Templar armor, their eyes and veins breaking open with a sickening, lyrium blue light. As frightening as their faces were, she needed only to look at Cullen and any fear faded away.

They were spinning on an empty dancefloor that, somewhere along the way, began to look like the streets of Kirkwall. It was littered with Chantry fallout, burning and smoking, but somehow it seemed as lovely as the Winter Palace. It was so unique in its way, harboring memories of years of scrawling out a living, fighting with blood and bone and the sulfurous scent of violent magic, and yet somehow, soaked endearingly in the distinctive aura of those precious few months they had together. Stolen glances in the street, whispered words while navigating crowds of citizens, lusty exertions in a hidden nook by the water.

"You have ruined me," he'd once said. "I can't imagine why anyone would ever leave you," he'd once said. The words had been sad when they'd originally been spoken, stained with the sorrow of an impending end, but their meaning had been proven true over time, a permanence which transformed them into something divine, a prayer from the heart delivered into the depths of her soul.

"My love," she uttered, needing nothing more to follow the truth of the words.  _My love._

On and on they danced, heads down and eyes burning, blocking out the rising strains of whispered gossip, the abject disapproval, the danger of discovery. They spoke with lips and hands and bodies that followed the music. Nothing else mattered.

His whimpers sounded at first like those she savored during sex, drawn out and titillating, his voice the aural embodiment of her own pleasure, a caress to her ear that felt as substantial as his touch. So the bristle of concern was delayed, following too late as the whimpers grew to something different, something not at all indicative of the ecstasy it seemed to embody. She rolled toward him in her foggy awakening, hands searching the familiar landscape of his chest and seeking to soothe, but she was too late to offer any respite.

The last hues of the dream lingered on the canvas of her closed eyes while she patted at the new gap beside her in the bed. Cullen was up, and the percussive pounding that she thought might be the music grew sharper, closer, and slowly she recognized the sounds of limbs striking an unyielding surface.

"Let me out," she heard in a desperate growl, and it didn't match up with the conversation of their dancing bodies. "Leave me…" The bed thumped as he banged against it, his panicking body ricocheting back again to the wall.

From the Winter Palace to the burning streets of Kirkwall and back to the Winter Palace, and Avery felt thoroughly disoriented. Yet another dizzying dream, conjured up from a mind deprived of sleep the night before, and pushed to the limits of exhaustion. She couldn't seem to clear those lysergic images away, even as she sat upright and rubbed her eyes, even as the percussive pounding rose to a disturbingly real volume that vibrated the last strips of her sleeping mind. He'd moved down the wall and toward the glass doors, following the black promise of open space. The surface being pounded sounded thin and tinny, and she saw shadowy fists punching, the rapid flail of a leg kicking.

The sound that brought her fully into consciousness was the shock of breaking glass, falling in a crashing downpour of delicate, high trilling notes. She heard him crunch over broken shards as he escaped the prison of the room, and without a moment's hesitation she followed, emerging out into the night and into a sea of cool, moist air. She barely saw him rush down into the grass, a quick moment of pacing like a caged animal newly freed.

"Cullen!?" she called in desperation, her first instinct to cling to him, to let her hands do the speaking. The sky had the very first hint of light, indicating full morning would not be far behind. She stumbled down into the grass, her legs heavy as lead as her body continued to harbor the last vestiges of sleep.

He grew still as she closed the distance between them, turning to cast a warning glance so powerful it cut through the dark. His outstretched hand screamed that she stay back, just wait, just give him a moment, please, just stay back. She read his body effortlessly, and froze in place. From far away there was a bite of pain, but it was unimportant. If he didn't want her help then, when he'd never rejected it before, then he was in a dark place indeed. Even when the the warning to keep her distance was no longer ringing through the night, it remained strong in his stance. With a pang of exhausted worry she turned back toward the room, barely remembering how it was she even found herself outside in the grass in the first place, barely discerning what of the last few moments was a dream and what was reality. She took a deep breath and then a step back toward the room.

Lights were flaring, the residents of nearby rooms awakening from the noise. One by one numerous windows lit up with the gold glow of lanterns, the parting of drapes as curious faces peered into the dark of the courtyard. She sighed even as the icy fingers of anxiety crawled over her, the reality of what had happened finally becoming more clear.

"Hawke?" came a voice, and she looked to the source. Anon, in his smalls and nothing more, his slender form but a shadowed outlined in dark blue light. He stepped off the patio and into the grass, his footfalls never making a sound.

"Stay back," she croaked, repeating the warning that Cullen had said with the desperation of his body. But Anon continued to come.

"Anon, please," she offered, hoping a gentle entreaty might help convince him to listen. His eyes weren't on her, they were on the silhouette of Cullen, now on his back in the grass, the palms of his hands pressed into the hollows of his eyes. A peal of empathy seared through her chest, setting her lungs on fire. Her Cullen was suffering yet again, and she had to make it stop.

Anon was quickly before her, preparing to step around and investigate her fallen lover. A panicked rush rose up, consuming her in a blaze of protective agency. If Cullen wasn't accepting her, then there was nothing Anon could do other than inflict more harm. The realization jolted her fully into the moment, burning off the last clouds of sleep that fuzzed out the edges of her awareness. Instantly she was enraged, her skin thrumming with the urgent force of magic.

"Fucking stop!" she yelled at the elf's silhouette, and his face finally turned to her, glaring at her with a bewildered entitlement. She didn't see any deference to her in his face, any appreciation for the situation. She saw outrage, annoyance, judgment. But it wasn't Cullen's fault, none of this was fucking Cullen's fault!

The burst of magic happened outside of her control, the force of her desire to protect Cullen merging with the Fade and drawing an instant flood of power through the veil and into the courtyard. But it wasn't a lashing out with the intent to harm, it was the erecting of a large barrier that crackled with electric force. Anon was immediately bathed in the purplish glow as hair thin bolts of electricity climbed up the forcefield she held between him and herself. The white surface of the three story palace wall before her flickered with a charged light.

"Stay back!" she roared again. Internally she tuned into her barrier, adjusting the force so that if he continued to come, the shock wouldn't be lethal. But Anon would hurt. He would hurt, and scream and wish to whatever elven Gods he believed in that he had listened.

Anon's dark eyes went wide, and she saw his open hands raising in surrender as he took a step back. Out the open door of his rooms peeked two small, female heads; the source of the continued party she'd heard hours before. As he retreated to his room, she let the barrier fall, feeling the strain of her body as she held it coiled and tense once again, her muscles quivering with the stream of adrenaline that coursed through her veins.

And then the courtyard was black again, the purple glow gone as quickly as it had come. She took a weary breath, reeling from the unexpected intensity of her magic. Sparks continued to travel up her skin, and her hands felt cold, the ice building up behind the electric, ready to administer a frigid death to whoever might deserve it. She stood in place and waited in a numb shock while it all drained away. Anon stood in his doorway with his arms crossed over his chest, and all around them curious eyes stared out of darkened windows. She glanced back at Cullen to see him sitting halfway up, his face turned to her. Whatever his expression was, it was lost to the darkness. Cullen could come back whenever he was ready, she figured. If he needed time, space, quiet, than he would have it. Until he was prepared to receive something more.

She took a step back toward the door to her quarters, her feet sliding against moistened blades of grass. It wasn't until her first step onto the stone pathway that the full carnage made itself known. She gasped as the soles of her feet smarted with an intense pain, but she continued onward. She'd ended the night exhausted, and now was no exception. At the very least she could rest in her bed, or on the sofa, while she waited for Cullen to return. As the patio emerged into view she saw dark footprints, fading away to nothing as they led backward toward the busted frame of the door.

She sighed as it all began to make sense. The pain in her feet, the prints that looked black in the dark morning light. They'd both walked straight over the glass without even a thought. She picked a foot up and saw that the soles of her feet were a dark glistening mess. She set the foot down and tried to take a step, involuntarily crying out at the piercing pain that shot up her leg from the glass shards still stuck within her flesh.

"Fuck," she hissed, not knowing what to do next. A scene in the courtyard, a busted glass door, a trail of blood… none of this would look good in the cold light of day. She shook her head, suddenly feeling helpless. She took another step, setting her foot down gently and searching for a place to place her weight that wouldn't just drive the glass deeper into her foot. The foot that held her weight in the meantime throbbed, and slowly it too because to ache, and then sear. And how would she get past the carpet of glass that lay between her and the room?

She only heard Cullen behind her in the space between heartbeats before suddenly, he was there. He whisked her into his arms and carried her effortlessly back into the room. She winced as he crunched over the glass once again, and then pulled the shattered remains of the door closed behind them.


	23. Chapter 23

Avery looked down at the blood-smeared tile of her room, and her mind began to drown. Somehow, it felt as though the failure had been entirely hers. She'd known it'd been a stressful day for him. She'd known he'd been feeling withdrawals. She'd known he already had an especially intense nightmare the night before. It was the perfect combination of factors, really, and she hadn't seen it. She could have prevented it if she'd been thinking, but her own exhaustion, only compounded by the dazzlingly forceful sex, had knocked her out completely.

The night of hiding, of suppressing urges, cleaning up messes that weren't hers, and then her own especially vivid dream, had already taken her mind back to Kirkwall again and again, and this unexpectedly bloody vision before her was no exception. Smears of crimson all over the patio and floor, shredded flesh, a smothering blanket of anxious uncertainty, and thousands of crystals of broken glass brought the stench of Kirkwall vividly back to life. She rarely thought back to those few days between the fight with Meredith and when she actually left the city, but she was there in full force now. It was one, long, blurry, painful memory of pulling broken bodies out of wreckage, and downing lyrium vial after lyrium vial as she poured out her healing magic, emptying herself and then refilling, only to empty again and start all over. People missing limbs, people with half their flesh burned off, people slowly enduring agonizing deaths that she and her friends couldn't seem to stop no matter what they tried.

What conjured up the memories most strongly was the particular challenge of dealing with shattered glass. Glass had rained down on everyone's heads in Kirkwall, when nearly every structure that didn't collapse had its windows blown out from the percussive blast of the explosion, but that hadn't even been the least of it. A girl of 16 named Juliana who'd been sitting in her bedroom reading a book, had debris break through her ceiling, bringing a large mirror down on her head. She ended up trapped under it, laying in a bed of glass shards for hours before Avery and Varric finally found her and pulled her out. It had taken all night to pick the most problematic glass out of her her thighs, the palms of her hands, her forearms, cheeks, and breasts. And here Avery was, faced with the same task yet again, knowing from experience now that there was no just letting the magically mending flesh push the pieces out. The deepest pieces had to be manually removed first, or the flesh would just heal right over top of them and then slice straight open again, or be pressed even deeper due to pressure and movement.

She took a shaky breath and tried to set aside the images in her mind, reminding herself that her experience with this should make the task easier to complete efficiently, despite whatever emotional disturbances might emerge in the meantime. After crawling to a lantern and lighting the wick with a wave of her fingers, she pulled one of Cullen's feet into her lap, put on her clinical face and swallowed down the insistent, raw aching that was lighting up her chest. She got to work without a word, pulling out the largest, most easily accessed pieces, and as she healed the gushing cuts they left behind she listened to what her healing magic told her about those that remained while trying to draw a mental map of the smaller bits, memorizing which were deep and would need special care, which were on the surface and might be able to eject themselves during the healing process. Cullen made no sounds and she could barely look at him for the guilt that had piled on top of the sudden, sickening barrage of ancient memories. She wondered how much worse her own actions had made everything, drawing everyone's attention in the courtyard, yelling at Anon and flaring with magic in a manner that could be construed as not only defensive, but  _threatening._  Surely the whole thing constituted an 'incident', and one that was on her shoulders as much as Cullen's. She could barely stomach the thought of what would probably come next.

Of course Cullen would probably tell her that nothing was her fault. Or so she assumed. She didn't really know. She could ask, but her heart wasn't in speaking yet. Her heart wasn't in anything other than mending the destroyed flesh in her hands. That at least was something she could  _do_ , a situation she could fix, at least partially. Her fingers grew sticky with blood, and when one foot was done to the best of her ability, she picked up the second, while Cullen picked through the glass on hers. The air in the room was almost too thick to breathe, and the growing morning light only illuminated a scene of such carnage she didn't how it would ever be cleaned.

When her fingers began to cramp from digging so gingerly into his foot, she had to stop and take a break.

"Hey," said Cullen softly. "Are you okay?"

She almost laughed, and at the same time almost cried. Of fucking course  _he_  was asking  _her_  if she was alright, and she didn't know how to answer. She could do nothing other than sit there and look at the brownish red that stained her hands and thighs. She might as well have been in Kirkwall again, sitting in the Chantry wreckage, having lost count of the dead and injured she'd handled, trying not to think about the much more trivial fact that her entire life had just completely fallen apart. Except she wasn't, and in the place she actually inhabited she really didn't have any right to feel as badly as she did. It wasn't her that had the nightmare. It wasn't her that might have years worth of agonizingly won progress completely reversed. She'd thought that coming back from the ball she could relax, but she shouldn't have been so foolish. There should have been no relaxing until they were safely back on the road and out from under the prying eyes of the Winter Palace.

"Hey," he whispered again. Finally she looked up, trying to stop her lip from quivering as she held back tears that she didn't entirely understand. He'd accidentally smudged blood on his face, and had a red streak near his nose. It almost looked like the one she'd usually paint on herself in the midst of battle.

"I'm sorry I…" he began, and she groaned an interruption.

"No," she said, "please, you should not be sorry. There is no way you can help what you do when you're asleep."

He stopped talking, the wrinkle between his brows growing deeper. He clearly disagreed.

" _I'm_ sorry," she said, her voice cracking as she spoke, a pathetic sound which only pissed her off. He reached for her, but stopped himself midway, looking at the bloody mess of his hands and clearly rethinking laying them on her. And then he turned to push himself off the floor in an attempt to stand, and she grabbed his calf, giving him a look that halted him mid-motion. Beneath the dried blood his feet were much better than they had been, but there was no question that there was still the tiny needle points of glass there, and standing would only drive them in deeper.

He sighed in response to her warning scowl and collapsed back onto the floor.

She released his leg, and let her hands fall limp into her lap, looking down once again at the red mess that they both sat within. She was wearing his tunic, somehow, thankfully, or she would have ended up standing in the courtyard completely naked. But the stains upon the white linen made it look as though she'd committed a murder, or perhaps even several. It was astonishing how much blood had come from them both, and her head felt light and a little woozy. When she turned to look at something too quickly, the whole room swayed a little. But there was no time to get dizzy when with every second that passed, morning was descending fully upon them. There would be questions to answer, shocked expressions to face, and they'd barely begun to clean themselves up, much less clean the once immaculately white room.

It took another hour at least before they gave up on any remaining shards in their feet. Cullen finally insisted on standing, and limped over to the wash basin, drenching several towels with water which he brought immediately to her. He knelt down to where she still sat on the floor and began to wipe away the dried blood from her hands and feet. When he finished she helped him do the same for himself, cleaning the smudge from his nose, the dried bits that collected between his toes and around the cuticles of his fingernails. And she immediately felt the need again to cry as he pulled her into his arms. It helped less that he was the one who was comforting her, when she seemed to have forgotten how to do the same for him. He who should be the one of them that truly needed it.

She stroked his cheek with her palm, falling into his warm brown eyes.  _Have I failed you?_

She wanted to ask, but she didn't, knowing he'd think it preposterous. But the feeling of failure was as real as the sun in the sky, and she quietly admonished herself for wallowing. It was too late now to do anything but damage control. And that purpose wouldn't be served if she let herself become despondent and depressed.

Once the first knock came upon the door, everything began to move in a blindingly swift motion. Cullen offered a sheepish explanation to Anon and Leliana while Avery helped the elven servants sweep up the glass and mop the floors. Cullen was quickly whisked out of the room for a private conversation, and a retreating voice called to Avery the time she should be ready to leave. The fallout seemed to be contained startlingly fast, swept under the rug with a tornado of whispers and grim expressions and she supposed she should be thankful. But the quiet felt ominous, and her stomach turned inside out as she waited for the servants to finish up and leave her alone.

After all her things were packed she went looking for Anon, hoping to talk to him, to level with him a bit, to apologize and explain. She knocked at the courtyard door that she knew belonged to him, but got no response. She wasn't entirely sure which door was Cullen's, not having made a mental note of it when he emerged the night before, and she could find no one who might be able to tell her. It felt extra disheartening that she was being excluded from whatever talks they were all having. If that was what they were doing at all. It was possible, she realized, that they just didn't want her there to try to protect Cullen from their questions or accusations. They'd want his story without her influence, as she'd shown Anon in no uncertain terms that she was willing to put herself between him and Cullen when push came to shove. It was possible that he was now considering her presence an unwelcome complication.

At the designated time she made her way toward the door they'd all come through when they'd first arrived, and found the guards and Solas standing in wait. Solas offered her a warm, sympathetic smile and she decided on the spot that she'd prefer to share a wagon with him if given the option. She had the instinctive sense that he wouldn't pry if she had an adverse reaction to the letters she intended to catch up on. Perhaps he could offer some wisdom. He seemed to have an abundance of it from what few conversations they'd had before, and maybe he'd even know some things about lyrium. Either way, something about him made her comfortable. He was quiet and reserved, and he would respect her privacy the same as he would want in return.

When Cullen appeared, he walked straight for her, and quickly more guilt crammed on top of of the beastly emotional weight that she already carried. She'd done so little to comfort him, to ask him how he was after a nightmare so intense that he broke through a glass door in his panic. She grabbed the drapes of his suit when he got close, her eyes swelling with the threat of tears, her throat closed and unresponsive. She tried to pull him away from the guards, from Solas, to somewhere that she could offer him something… tell him how much she loved him, how much she hoped she hadn't made things worse for him, explain that she had barely been able to help her reaction when Anon didn't listen to her to keep his distance.

He resisted being pulled away, whispering that there was no time. But his eyes were warm and forgiving, and she sank against his chestplate as his gloved hands smoothed back her hair.

"Everything's okay for now, love," he said softly. She didn't believe it, but it was a relief to hear. "As much as I want you to ride with me, I hope you'll take a wagon and try to get some sleep." He brushed a thumb gently under her eye, and she knew she had to look tired. She could feel the puffiness around her lids, and her eyes stung when she closed them. She hadn't actually cried, but she'd been a hair's width away from doing so for what felt like hours. She still felt off balance in general, and with each step came the bites of pain that indicated glass slivers lodged deep into the soles of her feet. She knew Cullen had to have the same, but somehow he continued to look perfectly composed and, outwardly at least, completely unaffected by the events of the early morning, save for the tell-tale blush of purple around his eyes. He was obviously very well practiced at hiding such things.

"How are you?" she asked anyway, even as she knew the answer. And it came just as she expected.

"I'm fine now. Please, don't worry about me. Just try to get some sleep. We'll talk more when we make camp tonight."

She pulled him in for a kiss, her lips trembling with the continued desire to cry. The truth was that she was terrified to return to Skyhold now. There was no way she could believe that once they arrived, unpacked, debriefed, that the order they'd both been fearing wouldn't come.

 

 

 

Xxxxxxxxxxxxx

 

 

 

_Avery,_

 

_We are unable to leave the Gallows for the time being, and this bloody island has never felt so small. A large ship was passing through the channel and ran into some underwater debris that we weren't aware of, and now the ship is stuck. It is both slowly filling with water, and completely blocking the entrance to the Kirkwall harbor. Eventually it will sink, as much as it can anyway, and become an even bigger blockage, so several crews of men are trying to break it apart and get it out of the way before that happens. It is a bit of a disaster, and we here at the Gallows are all starting to come down with cabin fever for our inability to travel into the city. Supply runs are being made using an alternate port which has been set up in the docks, but the boat that can access it has a difficult time getting back and forth easily due to the strong currents there, and so far there's been little room for regular passenger runs. Maker's breath if I don't just want off this blighted island. I'd give anything for a place like the ledge again, where I could just go be alone outside for a little while, but no such place exists here where I can't be found and bothered by someone. I've grown considerably more short tempered in recent days because of it, and this is on top of the already short fuse that these withdrawals give me. I am certain my fellow Templars are starting to want me out of here as much as I want it myself._

_In addition to that, there are some senior Templars visiting and their presence has been equal parts blessing and curse, made all the worse because they too have become inescapable. I've begun to wonder if they aren't being shuffled from city to city simply because the Chantry is not sure what else to do with them. Their fighting days are clearly over, but they are not mentally sharp enough to be placed on desk work, or any task at all that requires consistent attention. Just trying to have a proper conversation with them becomes a severe test of my patience. Most disturbing of all is that their almost constant state of confusion mirrors the disorientation that I see in myself so often as of late. One man in particular, an old codger named Daniels, has taken a bit of shining to me and seeks out my company much more often than I would like, but I don't have the heart to turn him away. I think it is because he too is originally Fereldan, and our homeland is one of the few things he can remember consistently. Though somehow he remembers where I am from even though he can hardly ever recall my name. As with the other senior Templars, he has this permanently vacant, foggy look in his eye that makes me feel ill. These unfortunate souls are the walking embodiment of what lyrium is slowly doing to all of us. To imagine that the confusion and disorientation I feel in the midst of my withdrawals might become permanent is absolutely terrifying. And Rylen has admitted to me recently that he feels the same._

_I actually just took today's dose right before I began this letter, which accounts for my current lucidity. But I sat here for nearly an hour staring at it first, listening to its song, to the uncomfortable pull that I feel in my veins as I held the vial of it. I can't help but wonder what each dose is taking from me every time I swallow one down. How much of my mental ability might I already have lost in the time that I have been a Templar? What might I be like right now if my life had taken a different path? Aside from certain experiences in my past that I would have avoided, might I be smarter, stronger, my personality different? Am I dumber right this very moment than I was before I took this morning's dose?_

_The blessing of the old Templars' presence, if I might be so callous as to even call it that, is that though my doubts about my life's work have been strengthened, so has my resolve. I decided this morning that my next dose of lyrium will be the lowest yet, despite my anticipating a commensurate ramping up of the withdrawals. But I am just compelled, I guess, to do something differently. To change this path the Chantry has set me on. And I have been wondering about many other things along that line, things I dare not speak to Rylen or anyone else. Things I am loathe even to record here on paper. I can't help but wonder what might become of a man who wants to leave the Order willingly. I know what happens to those cast out against their will. They end up like Samson, and most eventually end up dead, if not from the withdrawals itself, then because of the desperate acts that the withdrawals drive them to. But has anyone ever just chosen to leave? Just chosen to stop lyrium completely and wait out the aftermath? And if so, what became of them?_

_On the same token, had I not committed myself to this life as obliviously as I did, I would never have met you. The memories of my time with you remain the most shining, precious moments that I can recall, at least since leaving my family. I pray to the Maker that lyrium never takes those from me too._

_All my love,_

_Cullen_

 

 

It took several attempts to get the page back into the portfolio due to the nervous trembling of her hands. The next letter in line was the one she had been dreading. The page stood out starkly against the others, a vivid palm print stamped in a corner next to multiple oily black stains and fingerprint smudges. Everything about the paper screamed darkness and pain, from the crease lines where it had apparently been folded over, to the wavy, distorted bulges where the parchment had absorbed the wet ink, to the whorls and imprints of Cullen's hands, a desperate moment in his life preserved in the darkest of black. She took a deep, steadying breath before she drew her eyes away from the blotches and ventured nervously into the words.

At first whatever she was reading seemed eerily familiar, but not enough to jar her memory with knowledge of what exactly she was looking at. She scowled and scanned the page again and again, trying to make sense of the disjointed passages of shakily scrawled text, until she reached a section that had a part that began to make a little sense.

When her parents had been schooling her and the twins back in Lothering, they'd never put much importance on remembering the Chant of Light. They had never been particularly religious people, and mostly avoided the Chantry due to their status as apostates. Though she didn't know the Chant by heart like some people she had met since then, several passages of it had become familiar enough, being commonly used and repeated nearly everywhere she'd ever been in Thedas. As muddled and messy as it was, the Chant was what she seemed to be looking at in between all the blots and smudges. It was a bit of a relief at first, having not known what she was going to read on this most ominous of pages. Her eyes traveled over the words, and slowly the hairs on the back of her neck began to stand on end as different lines emerged more prominently than the others. 

 

_O Maker, hear my cry: guide me through the blackest nights_

_Those who oppose thee shall know the wrath of heaven._

_Blessed are they who stand before t_ _he corrupt and the wicked and do not falter._  
_Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just._

_The deep dark before dawn's first light seems eternal, but know that the sun always rises._

_Maker, though I am but one, I have called in your name._

_Though all before me is shadow,_  
_Yet shall the Maker be my guide._  
_I shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the Beyond._  
_For there is no darkness in the Maker's Light_  
_And nothing that He has wrought shall be lost._

_Let mine be the last sacrifice._

It continued on and on in densely packed script, the words carved into the page as though the tip of the quill had passed over the same lines numerous times. The little hairs on Avery's neck were followed by gooseflesh down her arms as entire passages began to repeat, again and again, his mind apparently getting stuck on lines such as  _Let mine be the last sacrifice,_ and  _Maker be my guide._ Eventually some individual words were doubled up, and then tripled, and soon they were running together almost entirely without gaps, with misspellings and omitted letters that nearly turned whole blocks of text into gibberish. The writing had started out in Cullen's familiar, even script and she wasn't too surprised when it slowly grew looser and messier, his dots and crosses reduced to wild, almost violent looking flecks. But her blood ran cold at the point in the last several lines, when she realized that whatever it was that she was reading no longer looked anything like Cullen's handwriting at all.


	24. Chapter 24

Avery stood before Bull and frowned as he informed her that Anon had disappeared off into the woods.

“He needs some time,” Bull said, a note of unexpected gentleness creeping into his voice. “The clan business… it hit him hard when we were on the road. He probably needs to just go do some… elfy things… whatever it is those people do out in the woods. I don’t know, but I strongly suggest just letting him be.”

Avery nodded and turned away. She’d sat for at least the last several hours in the wagon, having a mental conversation with Anon about what happened in the courtyard, coming up with explanations and apologies, preparing herself for the real thing. But there was nothing she could say or do if Anon wanted some time to deal with his recent loss. That had to supercede her own own concerns, and it would only backfire if she pushed him too hard now, even if that meant she remained unbearably anxious for the rest of the night, and into tomorrow. She sighed and called a thanks to Bull over her shoulder before making her way back to Cullen.

 

The full moon looked unnaturally large as it rose up from the horizon, casting a silver light over the distant, hazy peaks of the Frostbacks. They’d stopped the caravan much later than on any night of travel yet, with Anon apparently determined to make it to a specific campsite for their night’s stay, though why that one in particular neither she or Solas knew. The sun was almost completely gone when the party unloaded, tended to the horses and made quick work of dinner. And shortly after everyone had finished, Solas sat with Cullen and Avery in an out of the way spot, conjured up a number of little light wisps to illuminate his efforts, and used his force magic to pull the last little pieces of glass out of their feet. She watched the wisps in fascination while he concentrated and worked quietly. They seemed almost alive, a tiny little being made of light and magic that was no more complicated than a bug, but unexpectedly sweet and charming in its way.

He finished quickly. She stood and finally felt no discomfort as she tested her weight. There might be a fleck of glass here or there, but at least she could walk without feeling like she was stabbing shards deeper and deeper with every step. Cullen too nodded in relief, and thanked the quiet elf profusely. Solas departed with a respectful nod, leaving Avery and Cullen to stand alone in the dark outside the fire.

 

Her mind was in a jumble, having spent the day racing from possibility to possibility, trying not to dwell on all the worst case scenarios. It seemed impossible that nothing would come of the incident in the night, especially after they’d all run off to have some sort of private consultation about it. Her thoughts had careened wildly from visions of lyrium doses and cold shoulders, to the remote possibility of Anon shrugging things off completely. The truth was probably somewhere in between, though Anon had shown a conviction that made her nervous. But, as he’d said himself, they had bonded… a little, anyway. He said he liked her, that he _was_ like her. Perhaps that goodwill hadn’t actually been completely destroyed the way she imagined. Surely Anon could understand the desire to protect her loved ones? Perhaps he could be persuaded to let that part slide.

 

It was a beautiful night. The breeze still held the warmth of the Dales and all around them were the light whispers of treetops brushing together. Avery picked up Cullen’s hand, venturing a look up into the liquid quiet of his eyes and pulled him toward the forest. It’d be two days of cold before they were finally back at Skyhold, and there was nothing about the journey that she was really looking forward to, save some more time riding comfortably with Cullen on the horse.

“Let’s walk,” Avery said as she stepped lightly through the grass, making her way toward the deep shadows of the forest. The moon was bright enough to cut shafts of light through the trees, bouncing off shiny leaves and slender panels of rough bark.

Cullen beamed an appreciative smile. “I _am_ tired of sitting.”

The peace of the forest overtook them quickly, and Avery immediately understood how Anon might find time alone there comforting. Bull had indicated that he’d gone off in a direction far behind them, so with the knowledge that there should be no disturbances up ahead, she took a deep breath, trying to release all the tension that had seemed to build up over the hours stuck in a small wagon. She squeezed Cullen’s hand, and he squeezed hers back, his eyes watching her through the silvery dark with the same concerned expression they’d held that morning. When they were far enough away from camp that the lights and murmurs disappeared, Avery stopped and turned toward him. She suddenly felt like she had a hundred things on the tip of her tongue, but didn’t know which one to say first. He waited quietly, but she found herself stuck on the question of him being made to take lyrium. She was afraid even to say the words aloud, afraid that speaking them might mean that she would hear her fears confirmed.

“I’m… my love, I’m so very sorry that I hurt you, and two nights in a row now. I’ve never…” he stopped and sighed, rubbing hard at the back of his neck. ”I mean, I’ve only ever slept alone before, at least since those few nights we had in Kirkwall. The nightmares so rarely ever get that bad, and the few times they have there was never anyone else at risk of… my thrashing. I feel terrible.”

Avery’s stomach dropped, aching for the regret she heard in his voice. She shook her head and stepped closer, finding his face with her hands, pulling him into a pillar of moonlight so she could look into his eyes. That part of it had been the least of her concerns.

“I’m fine, I promise,” she reassured him, but his frown didn’t waver.

“Are you? You sort of… shut me out this morning. I was worried. I _am_ worried.” His face lowered until his forehead was resting on the top of her head, his arms draped lightly around her shoulders as though he was afraid of holding her too tightly.

“What are you worried about?”

“I don’t know,” he sighed. “I honestly don’t know. Just tell me what you’re thinking, Avery. Talk to me.”

She sighed, planting a warm kiss on the stubbly skin of his neck, and turned away to keep walking through the forest, gripping his hand tightly as she walked.

“Well, I probably made things worse didn’t I? I pissed off Anon and made an even bigger scene,” she said.

Cullen worried voice cut through the dark, even as it remained little more than a whisper. “Darling, do you know what would have happened if Mahanon had come down and bothered me in that moment? When I was still half caught in a dream and panicking?”

“No, what?”

“Well… nothing good. He should be thankful you stepped in. I am.”

She sighed. None of that made her feel better.

“But that’s not all, is it?”

“Of course not, Cullen,” she laughed. It was a trembling, feeble laugh that only barely covered up the fact that she was on the verge of tears already. She reached out with her free hand, letting them slip over the cool smoothness of some nearby leaves. She took another deep breath and tried to connect with the calm of the forest, tried to clear her mind of all the superfluous chatter. She _wanted_ to talk to Cullen, to tell him everything she was afraid of, everything she was thinking. She’d certainly want him to do the same if the roles were reversed.

“He’s going to make you take the lyrium now, isn’t he? Is that what you talked about this morning?”

Cullen was quiet for a moment, while he fingered the amber ring that sat in its usual place upon her finger. She noticed idly that his hands were warm, a little sweaty even. It was comforting.

“He didn’t say that. Not this morning. We just discussed what happened and tried to come up with an acceptable explanation for the Empress. And we arranged to pay for materials to fix the damage, even though they didn’t want to accept it.”

“But he’s going to, isn’t he?” She asked. Something inside her was tensing, begging quietly for him to tell her he wouldn’t. That they’d already talked about it and it wasn’t going to happen. But it was impossible that it might be that easy.

“He’d have every reason to,” Cullen said sadly.

“No! Cullen, _no_ ,” she said. It just spilled out, and she was shaking her head even as she said it. All she could think about was the black letter, _all_ the letters. Headaches and confusion and pain and suffering, having a little bit of your mind stolen from you with every dose… she couldn’t bear the thought of him enduring that again. He shouldn’t _have_ to.

“You can’t let him,” she said. “If he tells you to, just… don’t do it. Or we could lie. We could say you’re taking it when you’re not. How would he know?”

“Avery… I am not a liar,” he said. “Besides he’d know the moment something else happened… and I am sure something will, eventually. Some of these things might never go away, no matter how long it’s been.”

“But, Cullen, I’ll help! I can help with some of it anyway… the headaches and the sleep and the pain… I just need to stay on top of it, to pay attention and and not get lazy or…”

She was jolted into silence at the sudden motion of Cullen stepping around her, grabbing her by the upper arms, turning her so that she was looking directly into his face. It happened too fast, and her first instinct was to think that she’d made him angry, but his eyes were sad.

“Darling,” he said, his voice coming much softer than she expected, “it is not your job to save me. You’ve been trying since, well, since almost our first day on the ledge together and I’ll admit, you’ve succeeded, in more ways than you know. He released her arm and cupped her face. “But—”

“But you think it’s inevitable? The decision’s already made?”

He sighed heavily, an answer of its own.

“When Mahanon makes up his mind to do something, there is no stopping him. That is one of the reasons we all agreed that we trust him as our leader. For all my complaints about his… _personal proclivities,_ the kid follows through when he’s made up his mind about something. And his mind has been made up about me for a long time. It’s only out of courtesy, and probably Cassandra, that he’s even waited this long.”

Avery swallowed the massive lump in her throat, her chest throbbing with every aching beat of her heart.

“And to be honest, were I in his position, especially not knowing anything first-hand about the withdrawals, I’m not sure I wouldn’t make the same decision,” Cullen said.

A hot tear escaped her eye, and streamed down her cheek. She was sure he couldn’t see it, and felt on the verge of just letting them all finally come. She’d held them back all morning, and through most of the day in the wagon. But standing in the sheltering dark of the forest, she was struggling to see the point.

“But Cullen… your letters… You don’t want this,” she insisted, choking back a sob.

“No, I don’t. But I understand why he questions my decision. He _should_ be questioning it,” Cullen said.

“No,” Avery said, feeling the tears come now, her throat constricting as though caught within a slow noose. She had the impulse to storm off, to rail against him for not fighting harder, but echoes of the conversation she had with Cassandra stopped her. She took a step back toward him, a delicate spark of hope igniting somewhere deep inside. “Then we’ll leave. Let Cassandra find you a replacement like you requested of her already. We don’t need Skyhold. We can make our own home somewhere.”

Cullen was still for a long moment, and Avery calmed, hoping he was considering it, hoping the next words out of his mouth would be the same promise they’d made once before, four years earlier. A promise they hadn’t fulfilled then, but they could now.

“I made that request to Cassandra in a moment of desperation. But if I leave now, there are at least a dozen men who would abandon their posts too, if not more. They’ve been there with me since the beginning and they’re in leadership roles now, with hundreds of others below them, looking up to them. To leave so many without their Captains would throw all of the Inquisition’s forces into chaos,” Cullen explained, his voice was soft but she could hear the conviction in it. “Whatever peace we find together would not last long in a world where the Inquisition failed because their army was left in disarray. And I wouldn’t want to live with the knowledge that I’m responsible for that, not when the stakes are so high. Would you?”

Avery sighed resignedly, pulling away to continue to walk. In the distance there seemed to be a clearing, and she thought she heard the gentle rushing of flowing water.

“No,” she conceded sadly, “I wouldn’t.” She kept walking. One foot in front of the other, leaves crunching under her boots, the trees sighing their movements from every direction. As much as she tried to take in the peace of the woods, she suddenly felt weak, like all the breath had been knocked out of her lungs.

“But…” she began again, but couldn’t seem to croak out a follow up. With another step she found herself sinking down to the ground, the tears coming, streaming in an uncontrollable wet flood. She sat on a soft pile of crinkling leaves and just let it come, all her strength to hold the barrage of feelings back now given up for lost. She cried as Cullen joined her on the ground, as his arms came around her, his head resting on her shoulder. She cried as she thought about him sitting at his desk and looking at a vial of lyrium and wondering about a different life. She cried as she thought about Daniels, about old Templars too incoherent to be given even a simple task, or to remember a man’s name from one day to the next. She thought about how frightening it must be to lose yourself to confusion, to come aware in a situation you don’t remember entering, wondering what you might have said that you don’t remember. To have headaches and nightmares that make you break through glass doors. She cried as she thought about blood and broken glass and Kirkwall, and how badly she wanted to save him, and how it appeared as though she had already failed, just as she’d failed to save her whole family, and so many people caught in Chantry rubble. Even the people who had had been in the Chantry in the first place. And once, even herself.

“My love,” he whispered once she’d calmed, his hands stroking down her hair, and her back. “Maybe… maybe you should stop reading my letters.”

She looked up at him in surprise. “What? Why?”

“I can’t stand the thought that they’re hurting you this badly. I know there’s… some intense stuff in there. But I didn’t…” He paused. She waited for him to finish. His breath was shaky. “I just wanted you to see how much I love you. How I never forgot about you, not at any point until the moment you walked back into my life. I want you to know _me,_ to know what happened during those four years so that there is never any uncertainty, or feeling of… distance between us. But I didn’t ever want to cause you pain,” he said. “Maybe it’s better if you just stop. Maybe when things are different again… after this is all over…”

She sniffled as she shook her head. He was right of course that it was causing her pain, but it had been doing that since the very first letter, even before the question of lyrium had been introduced.

“They seem all the more important now. Now that I need to be prepared for what may come… so I can know what you need, how I can help,” she said as she continued to shake her head. There was no question that she was going to keep reading them. She was going to read them all.

“But we don’t really know what’s going to happen. Anything could change at any moment,” he whispered. “None of us knows for sure what the future holds.”

“You can’t let him make you take lyrium, Cullen. You can’t let him.”

“I will do my best not to,” he said. “I will, I promise. Trust me, it is the last thing I want, too.”

Avery nodded and took another breath, holding on to his promise. She repeated in her mind over and over again, forcing herself to believe it, to block out all the resigned arguments he’d made just moments before. He didn’t want it. That wasn’t a question. He didn’t want the addiction, he didn’t want the damage, and he didn’t want the struggle to overcome it all again. She forced his words deep into her brain. _I promise,_ he’d said. Yes, decided. She would trust him. She _did_ trust him.

“Okay,” she nodded.

She wiped the last of the tears out of her eyes and looked around, peering through the silver, blue and black dapples of the night forest. Her body felt emptied after the cry, her face a little puffy and numb, all her nervous energy spent. It was a relief to have purged all the emotional chaos that had built up inside her throughout the day. With wobbly legs, she rose to a stand, taking his hand to to pull him further into the forest, making their way toward the clearing. As they crunched quietly along, she found herself wishing for a stream, or better yet, a pond. And was heartened to see her wish manifest as the clearing grew larger before them.

 

They emerged into a narrow clearing that ran along a broad stream, the water flowing clear and cool over rounded rocks, and as she followed its length into the distance she realized that they were midway up a long, low hill. She instinctively turned to follow the stream toward lower ground, hoping that at some point there might be a place where water collected, maybe even a proper pool. Cullen followed her without a word, seemingly content to let her lead. She glanced at him and almost lost her breath again at the gentle cascade of silver light that clung like silk to his skin, lighting him up with a surreal glow. He remained as stunning as any time she’d ever seen him, and she lost herself for a moment in the intense stare of his eyes.

“Your turn,” she said as they took cautious step after cautious step along the rocky shore of the stream. She realized with relief that the emotional purging on the forest floor, coupled with his promise, the clean air and the peace of the night was helping more and more to clear her mind.

“For what?” he asked.

“To talk to me. What are you thinking?”

“I am… thanking the Maker for answering my prayers and bringing you back to me,” he said softly. “Actually I am thanking him for bringing you into my life in the first place. For making you care about me. Every man should be so lucky to have such a ferocious, selfless beauty by their side.”

Despite the ache of tears that still lingered under her cheeks, a smile crept over her, her cheeks growing warm with the compliment in his words. She’d never really been sure how to handle compliments, and could think of nothing to say in response. She stopped and turned to face him, letting him close the distance between them as he kept moving, and feeling first his aura of heat as he drew close, and then the whisper of his breath over her skin, followed by the familiar, warm strength of his hands.

“The Maker can’t take the credit for my caring about you,” she said, “you did that yourself.”

“Is that right?” he asked, his lips curling as he spoke, “well I have done something right in my life then.”

She felt the tears try to return once again as she kissed him, the tender touch of his love breaking her heart open anew, and for the second time she just let the tears come. The thought of all Cullen’s struggles, all of his accomplishments being wiped away with a couple swallows from a blighted vial was more than she could take. She burrowed into him, letting the heat of his mouth overtake hers, tasting his tongue, the lushness of his lips as they explored, so practiced now in knowing precisely how to kiss each other. She sighed into his mouth, feeling each of her cells melt a little as his touch worked to soothe her, to bring her trembling body back to peace, all the while coming to the conclusion that she simply would not accept the possibility of Anon making that call. Cullen was right that the future was not set. Nothing had happened yet. She could still try to make a difference somehow, to talk to Cullen, talk to Cassandra, talk to Cole. It wasn’t too late until the lyrium had been drunk, and there was no way that was going to happen without her doing everything in her power to stop it.

His kisses grew more urgent, and there was no question what they were leading to. It was what even the slightest touch, the most saturated look by Cullen would lead to if she wasn’t careful, if she didn’t exercise what restraint she was capable of. And she pulled away again, determined to find a place to enter the water before all attempts at seeking it were abandoned, before she gave herself over to his body right there on the rocks.

He groaned, and followed behind, his voice coming soft and husky with desire.

“I hated seeing him with his hands all over you,” Cullen said.

Avery nodded in quiet agreement. She had hated him seeing that too. Her attention was by a widened space up ahead that looked like the possibility of the pool. It took a moment to put her head back in the Winter Palace with Anon. She’d already almost entirely forgotten about the ball itself, her focus for the entire day having firmly relocated to the late night courtyard.

“You certainly seemed okay with it out on the balcony,” she said.

“I wasn’t okay with him touching you. But I was okay with him getting repeatedly turned down by you. That had to hurt his fragile little ego.”

She laughed softly, feeling the clouds in her mind begin to break up a little bit, finally. Her slow burn between her legs flared brighter at the memory of him coming toward her with his predatory eyes locked hard onto hers, his dismissive laugh at Anon.

“I’m not sure that it’s that fragile,” she snorted.

“Sure it is. All egos that big are,” he said with a shrug.

“Well, good,” she sighed, “I was hoping you wouldn’t worry.”

“Of course I wasn’t worried. He might convince himself that he has a shot with you, but that’s only because he doesn’t really understand what we have,” Cullen said, his voice strong and confident. Avery felt her heart bloom with love. Of course everything that he said was true, but to hear it confirmed from his own lips was validating in a profoundly satisfying way.

“Anon doesn’t understand quite a few things,” she said, thinking immediately of lyrium again. “But I’m glad you do.”

She stopped again, turning to catch his face in her hands and press a grateful kiss to his lips. He took her hands and ended the kiss, nodding at something behind her.

“Is that what you were looking for?”

Behind her sat a gleaming silver pool, a section of the stream dammed up by a fallen log. She moaned her approval as they approached it carefully, and even in the dim moonlight she could see through the clear water all the way to the bottom. It seemed to get rather deep in the middle, the calm edges seeming more like a flawless cut of crystal than the permeable surface of water.

Her fingers flew directly to the laces on her boots, still loose and haphazardly tied after letting Solas doctor her feet. In several swift moves they were off completely and she was working at buttons of her tunic. Cullen watched with his half smile, apparently too entranced to remove his own clothes, and she just let him observe, working as quickly as she could to get every scrap of fabric off her body. There hadn’t been time for a bath after the morning’s incident, and even though this water was sure to be cold, the soothing waters promised to further ease the discomfort that had made itself a resident in the pit of her stomach. She couldn’t seem to get in soon enough.

All at once she was submerged, the bottom of the center of the pool much harder to reach than she anticipated, the shock of the cold water quickly fading as her body acclimated to the new temperature. She dove under and opened her eyes, amazed at how much was visible even in the darkness. The moon was high overhead, shining down on them like a spotlight and lightening the sky around it to a deep, almost otherworldly cerulean, framed by wisps of glowing clouds. Before she reached the surface again she heard another crash, and the muscular limbs of her lover were right beside her, the water growing turbulent with the force of his entry. She reached out and felt the soft surface of his thigh, and the sharp cut of his hip, pleased to see that he took her cue and left behind his smalls.

Kicking her legs, she found herself in a more shallow area of the pool, her feet whisking over smooth boulders that seemed to lay at nearly every different depth. Almost instantly she felt invigorated, the immersion into a new watery world jarring her mind out of its worry, out of the suffocating uncertainty about what was yet to come, replaced with an almost dreamlike calm. Cullen emerged and came straight for her, his dark eyes burning through the silvery moonlight.

“This is… very nice,” he said as he made his way to her, his hair hanging in loose curls over his forehead and ears. She couldn’t help but smile as she watched him, awe struck yet again by the aesthetic perfection of the man before her. “And it’s much easier to swim without that blasted Templar armor.”

She laughed openly then, her memory carrying her away to that day on the ledge that they’d crashed into the water together. It seemed so long ago, back before she knew him, when the spark of her attraction had only just been kindled but had yet to take hold. It was probably those moments following their brush with drowning, as much as that first uncharacteristic kiss, that was responsible for everything that came after. If they hadn’t had to strip their clothing and wait together, if it hadn’t been so cold for him to suggest skin to skin... Nothing might ever have followed at all. The scary fact was that he had legitimately been in danger of drowning, and for a moment she shivered as she considered how differently her life would have gone if she’d never been able to get a hold of him, never been able to pull him back up to the surface. She shook the thought away with the realization that she was scowling, her heart fluttering at the terrifying possibility.

“What?” he asked in response.

She shook her head again. She’d had enough of indulging in terrifying thoughts for the day.

Cullen swam toward her, pushing forward a low wave of water that lapped at her chest, and soon she was gathered up into his arm yet again, his face positioning itself to look into her eyes, getting her attention with its unexpected intensity.

“Stay with me, Avery,” he said. “This morning… you disappeared somewhere in your own head for a long time. Whatever it is you’re thinking about that does that, that makes your lips do this little pouty thing that they’re doing… just don’t. As cute as it is and it makes me want to — “

He took her mouth in a quick kiss, suckling her lips between his with a quiet groan. He sighed as he pulled away.

“Mmm… yes, as cute as that is. Look… look at where we are right now. That future that I prayed for us to have together, back when we were both stuck in a crumbling city, when I was shackled to the Order, the future that seemed so damned _impossible_ … it’s here, it’s real, and we’re in it right now. We’re together, and we’re free and nothing is ever going to tear us apart. That alone seems almost like… a miracle. Doesn’t it?”

“Yes,” she breathed in agreement. She looked around at the beauty of the night forest, the tapestry of stars and colors hanging over them, the glassy stillness of the pool. That she could hold him in her arms without worrying about when he’d have to return to his duties, whether anyone would notice he was gone, whether questions would be asked that could destroy his career, seemed almost unreal when she really thought about it. She’d spent weeks convincing herself to let him go because simply being with her could threaten his very life. He was absolutely right that it felt almost like a miracle. She squeezed him more tightly, feeling the solid bulk of him before her, his exquisitely lithe body seeking greater contact, hovering and ready for her touch. She nodded and brought her legs around his waist to pull him all the way in, securing him seamlessly against her. His body cradled hers, the thumping of his heart going strong, the ridges of his muscles smooth under her touch like satin over stone.

She let all her other thoughts fall away, and tried to gather all of herself into the precious reality of the moment. He was right. No matter what else happened, nothing would ever part them now, not permanently. Everything else just seemed unimportant in comparison to that fact. But it was quickly growing increasingly difficult to keep herself within that sparkling moment of lucidity, as all the memories she cherished of their time together began to flow before her mind’s eye.

“Do you remember our first kiss?” she asked, knowing that of course he did, and there had actually been _two_ first kisses, but she let the question pull her away as it escaped her lips, tugging her back into that electric moment that was branded indelibly into her mind. She’d gone to the ledge at night, a dumb decision in light of the city’s chaos, and he found her there after going to her house first. The night before that they’d spent the night on the floor by the fire. She’d massaged his back until he relaxed enough to rest against her, and she looked down at his lips and made the excruciating decision not to kiss him. That entire next day she was reeling from the torrent of emotions that he’d stirred in her. And then he found her on the ledge, sitting alone in the dark. He had a black eye that needed to stay black so as not to rouse suspicion, and he fell into her lap as though falling at the feet of a saint.

He nodded as she took his face in her hands and brought it to hers the same as she had that far away night. That kiss had been a decision her heart made almost completely separately from her mind, deciding on its own to run with the risk, with the impossibility of any future that an apostate and a Templar Knight-Captain could have together. She’d derided herself then for committing to such a foolish affair, but clinging to him in the cool water of the pool, in the middle of a future that was not as impossible as she’d once believed, it seemed her heart had been much smarter than she’d ever given it credit for.

“I remember every single kiss we’ve ever shared,” he said softly as his face hovered tauntingly close. She brushed her lips against his, replaying that breathless moment that she’d given over to her heart’s desire on the ledge. His lips remained the single most enticing, most divinely beautiful feature that she’d ever seen on any man, that she’d ever had the immense pleasure to touch. Even so far away from their unlikely beginnings, it was still so easy to lose herself completely in them, to be compelled to surrender her herself to him entirely with even the promise of a kiss.

The trance of memory took over both of them, their mouths merging and searching the other with a slow, sensual rapture. She shuddered as he pressed forward, his tongue entwining with hers, his chest heaving for air as his grip on her waist tightened. She dragged her fingers through the wet strands of his hair, holding his head as though it was the most sacred thing she’d ever beheld. She sighed as her own body began to come alive against him, her legs and thighs sliding up and down his torso, her hips pressing harder against his.

“I think I’ve relived that first night that we made love at least a thousand times,” he whispered as his mouth moved to her jaw, and began to kiss down her neck. “It was… you are… everything I have ever wanted, Avery.”

She nodded, groaning at the shivers rushing down her back from his mouth. She twisted her fingers in his hair, needing to make an effort not to pull to hard.

“You stood before me in that open robe, and invited me into the bath…” he paused to hungrily mouth at her shoulder, his tongue tracing her collar bone and dipping into the hollow at the base of her throat. She felt her nipples tighten against him and she rolled her hips out of pure need to be closer, feeling the rapidly hardening thickness rising between them. “And you showed me how to touch you…”

His voice was throaty, and in the light she could see that his eyes were hooded, looking intoxicated as his body tensed against her and then released in slow, languid pulsations, each slow grind sending waves of unbearable arousal through her body. She pulled herself out of the mental fog that his touch always cast over her, and moved her hands over him, feeling him, wanting to experience every last inch that she could read.

“Touch me like that now?” she asked as she came up for air. “Please?” She dragged her hands down his back, pushing into the thick cords of muscle in the way that she’d massaged him that night so long ago. Coming back up along his sides her fingers raked along his ribs, into the bulges of flesh just below and behind his arms. Her hands bit into him, feeling ravenous for more of his flesh. He groaned as his hand stole around her belly, finding its way to the radiating center of heat between her legs. A finger found the spot she needed it to be without hesitation, beginning its slow, circular motion over her pearl. It left briefly to explore deeper into her folds, slipping tenderly inside her and resting for a heartbeat, before returning back to her aching bundle of nerves.

A moan escaped her throat as she moved with him, grinding hard against his hand but keeping her movements slow so that his fingers could keep their place.

“Come for me Avery, like you did that night,” he whispered, and she nodded deliriously, angling her hips to catch the head of his cock, and positioning herself upon it, preparing to drive down and bring him into her. That night he’d warned her not to move, that it had been too long and it would be over too fast. She’d tried to obey his urging but she’d struggled to remain still, especially as he made her come with the force of an avalanche, and she felt him rise and squirm and come inside her anyway. In her mind she could still hear him, anguished and sweet, the most beautiful music she’d ever heard, his toes curling as he found a pleasure that he’d said he hadn’t had in years.

He filled and stretched her, the lubricating effect of her nectar thinned by the crystal waters of the pool, and she felt every throbbing inch of him as he scraped deliciously against her inner walls, landing with an intense shudder at the contracting nest of sensations deep within her belly. Joined with the diligent massaging of his fingers, and she was quickly advancing toward an ecstatic release, urged on by the memories of the first time their bodies had touched.

“Cullen,” she breathed as they moved slowly against each other, and he groaned her name in response as his mouth connected with hers again, claiming her lips and penetrating deeply with his tongue. Her mind existed in two places at once, clutching desperately to Cullen in their new present, one so free and unburdened in comparison, and still tethered to the memory of where they had been, with the ecstatic newness of rushing into something real and beautiful and dangerous, an attraction that promised to devour in ways that might be their very destruction.

It didn’t take long for her bud to sting with the intensity of its pleasure, his finger providing the perfect rub of friction, the perfect stimulation to propel her body into an ecstatic place faster than her mind could follow. It felt like the touch of something magical, a spark of electricity that teased her pulsating clit into an explosion of sensations, an aurora of light and sound and bliss that rained over her body the way a fireball scattered ash, razing every last nerve into a delicious fury. She clutched to him with every muscle in her body, holding tight to the knowledge that they were no longer trapped in a perilous dance of apostate mage and dutiful Templar, that any threat he faced she would be there to fight with him, even if that threat came from within their own home. She bucked hard as she sensed the edge finally approaching, and she pulled away so she could look into his eyes when she went over, drinking in the glassy caramel stare that haunted her for so many lonely nights in a too large bed. She held onto the pain of their experience in Kirkwall, the longing, the fear, the uncertainty and let it reconcile with their new reality as she grinded hard against his cock and felt the titillating touch of his fingers pulling her into a blissful oblivion. The pain had driven them to an unbridled desperation back in Kirkwall, a greedy hunger to consume as much of the other in the limited time they had, but it was different now. Every last thing in the world was different. And come blight or breach or lyrium, nothing was ever going to drive them apart again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Skipping ahead to Skyhold next chapter. And there is an end in sight, though it's 14 chapters away. Hopefully you enjoy what's coming up. Thanks so much to all my readers and commenters for sticking with me, even through the slow bits! <3 (loling at a couple errors I've found after posting. Lol... Sorry)


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry.

It was a relief to open her eyes to the now endearing hole in the ceiling, the softness of their bed beneath them, and the warm grogginess of a slowly waking Cullen. She'd used a massive dose of the sleep spell on him every night that they'd camped, but their first night home he'd transformed into a lusty beast, keeping Avery awake long into the night and early morning hours, making love no less than three separate times. What time had been spent sleeping was short for both of them.

Her hips practically creaked with soreness as she threw a leg between his and squeezed herself into the nook of his chest, inhaling a deep breath of his sleepy musk. The gold of the sun was streaming through the ivy vines, and any moment he'd be stirring and rising for a regular day's work, while she'd be left to her own devices.

Skyhold at least felt slightly less anxiety-inducing now, since she'd let herself into Anon's wagon after the final rest stop. Before Bull or anyone else could board she'd locked the doors, shutting them both in alone for the last leg of the journey. Once again she'd had a whole host of plans for things to say to him, a rehearsed apology fired up and ready to go, but she found herself without the heart to force him to speak.

He hadn't been open about his grief, but the look in his eyes as he sat completely still, faced toward the passing landscape outside the window, halted her efforts once again. Instead she laid a hand on his arm and sat quietly beside him for at least an hour before he even seemed to notice she was there.

"Can you heal me?" he asked quietly, his black eyes dull and vacant. Avery looked him over for a moment, confusedly searching for a physical injury. But of course that had not been what he meant.

"My healing doesn't work like that. I wish it did," she whispered in return.

"Would you do it anyway? Please?"

Somehow she ended up spending the last stretch of the trip with Anon's head in her lap while he lay across one of the padded wagon benches, his face pressed against her hip. She didn't bother with any reassuring platitudes, knowing there was nothing she could say that would help him escape the depths of his loss. Instead she offered her quiet company, and picked gently through his hair, traced along the exposed sections of vallaslin and let the warmth of her healing settle over him, even though there was nothing physical to fix. He groaned occasionally, but barely moved, save a sleepy repositioning where he slid a hand under her thigh, and held onto her leg the way she often did her pillow. The hours spent in silence calmed her racing mind, and offered a shaky reassurance that he might not have taken her behavior in the courtyard too personally. Though as they climbed off the wagon he didn't so much as cast her a parting glance, and the little voice in the back of her mind whispered not to get too comfortable yet.

What little was left of the evening after their arrival had been uneventful, at least until Cullen removed his clothing and came at her, apparently awakened by the comforting safety of their bedroom walls.

And even as he blinked the sleep out of his eyes, his cock again pressed insistently against her thigh and she habitually reached for it, never tiring of the warm heft of it in her hand. His breath hitched in his throat as she squeezed, his hips tensing in response as he turned toward her, pulling her tight against him.

She couldn't help but laugh as she brushed a golden curl out of his face. "What's come over you?".

"Well… you did, a couple times. And under me," he answered with a sleepy sigh. "Want to have another go?"

She laughed again, keeping her hand wrapped around his cock to prevent it from seeking entrance into her sore, overused body.

"I'm afraid I'm a feeling a bit chafed this morning."

He groaned his disapproval and closed his eyes, apparently not ready to extricate himself from their warm tangle. She basked for a long moment in his arms, breathing him in and listening to the cheerful chirps of the nearby birds. As nervous as she'd been about the repercussions they'd face in Skyhold, there was no denying that it was nice to be home. And it really did feel like home.

His hips kept their slow grind against her hand and eventually he snorted a quiet laugh.

"What?"

"It's that damned dress. Such a shame that there was so little of it left," he said. "I was thinking about it while I was riding yesterday and…  _Maker's breath,_  I almost had to stop the caravan and drag you behind a tree."

Her laugh became a giggle, and she felt her body begin to respond to him, despite the slight sting between her legs. Pressed as close to her as he was, that intoxicating scent filling her head, and it simply wasn't possible not to desire him, even if her body was still thoroughly spent.

"You should have," she said.

"I am sure the others would not have approved of the wait," he sighed. She squeezed his cock and he gave another arousing groan.

"So? Let 'em wait."

His eyes opened as his lips curled approvingly. "I do appreciate your eagerness."

She couldn't help but kiss the beautiful smirk the right out of his lips, even as she realized that it was only making him writhe more, his hands pressing warmly against her back, and exploring over her bare skin in the way that never failed to give her goosebumps.

His neck tasted like the salt of his sweat, dried into place after their night's exertions, and she sucked it off him, working her way down his throat, and over the fragrant curls on his chest. She bit at his nipples and dragged her tongue down the path between his abdominals, all the while his hips bucked a slow rhythm into her hand, his cock heavy and full, twitching with the pounding of his pulse. A glance to his face revealed caramel eyes watching her intently, his jaw dark with two day old stubble, his hair wild after hours of rolling around in the bed together. She was sure she was a fright, feeling the nest of tangles standing out from her head and sure it would be quite the chore to brush through later. But none of that took priority over Cullen, and she ignored her quiet pangs of self consciousness as she worked her way slowly down to his hips.

The thick curls around his cock were pungent with the spicy musk of a night's worth of sex, and though she longed to spend a long, lazy morning there emptying him however many times it took until he couldn't rise again, she couldn't help but anticipate a knock on the downstairs door any moment. It seemed most mornings in Skyhold began that way, with the messengers unable to keep themselves from the door for even the few extra minutes it took Cullen to be dressed and ready. It was a wonder how they all weren't all perfectly aware of his normal schedule. Then again, she realized, since her arrival he hadn't been keeping quite the clockwork regularity she imagined he had before.

After a quick swirl around the ridge of his cockhead with her tongue, she lowered herself further, focusing on the full, fuzzy orbs below the pillar of his shaft. They were soft against her face, scented with the remnants of their mingled juices and overpoweringly  _male._ She kept a firm grip on the base of his straining cock while she sucked one bollock into her mouth, massaging languorously with her tongue, increasing and loosening the tension in her suction and then switching over to the second. With a full mouth and a wistful groan she called up a few magic sparks, and rubbed a slow electric charge over the length of his cock, delivering the same with her second hand to the firm path of his perineum. He quickly began to whimper and moan, his voice full of an immediate, building desperation. Had an eavesdropper been unaware of their activities, they might be inclined to think him in pain, but the blissful contortion of his face, and his teeth chewing on his lower lip did not look like anything other than wanton ecstasy.

Gently she increased the charge and flow of the electric energy, her tongue still working firm circles around his tightening sac and he had to almost sit up to reach her hair, grasping onto her for dear life, trying in his mindless release to keep her steady as his hips bucked into the air before her.

With a long, throaty growl his seed began to spurt, streams of cloudy liquid spraying up the rippled muscles of his belly and chest, his cock throbbing in time with the penetrating frequency of her magic. Her hand did little else besides offering an additional squeeze or caress, but it seemed to be more than enough, and the walls echoed with the glorious sounds of him.

It was over far too soon. He was quickly limp once again, sunk impossibly further down into the fluff of his pillow, his groans trailing off into satisfied sighs while his seed turned white against his golden skin.

Avery was content to stay at crotch level, kissing against the softness of his thighs until he giggled and flinched, trying in vain to swat her away from his ticklish places, but not quite able to reach. In his patting around for her head he landed on her hand, and laced his fingers through hers, exhaling a deep, happy sigh as he basked for another moment in the afterglow of his orgasm.

Eventually, still surprised by the lack of messenger interference, she climbed up the bed and settled back down at his side, pressing herself into the warmth under his arm and laying another light trail of kisses over his shoulder. He must have been tired to not be rising and dressing now that the sun had fully emerged over the horizon, not that she could blame him for wanting to stay in bed.

"I forgot to tell you, our new tub was delivered while we were gone. It should be in your former quarters," he said, his voice a smoky rasp. She nodded happily, and brushed a finger down his chest, dipping into the seed still pooled up on his belly. She giggled unintentionally as she pushed the viscous spend into a heart, and wondered if there was enough for her to actually write some words. Perhaps compose a poem, spelled out in his own juices across the stunning canvas of his chest.

At the sound of her laughter the curiosity got the better of him and he opened his eyes.

"I think this is my cue to get out of bed," he laughed as he rolled away, his feet hitting the stone floor with a muted slap. As she watched him dress, the balm of peace slowly slipped away, and her mind began to fill with the lingering worries from the trip. Outside of the private sanctuary of their room, things in Skyhold were still uncertain, even though they did not feel as overtly threatening as they once had. She tried to keep her anxiety from flaring up as she detailed the day's list of duties. She needed to consult with Cassandra, and possibly even Cole. And damned if she was going to let Anon slip out of yet another attempt at conversation.

But his grief certainly would not facilitate such an attempt, assuming he was still as crushed under it as he'd been in the wagon. And why wouldn't he be? That hadn't even been 24 hours ago. Cullen pressed a warm kiss to her mouth once he was done dressing, and paused to look deeply into her eyes.

"Thank you for that, my darling. I'm sorry I can't return the favor at the moment. Perhaps a long soak in the tub later will help with the soreness? And then…" he quirked an eyebrow, as adorable a proposition as she'd ever received in her life.

"Maker's breath, you are going to be the death of me. And what a wonderful death it will be," she sighed, her newly restless mind once again stricken quiet.

"Don't even joke about dying, my love. I can't…" he said sweetly as he brushed his thumb down her jaw. "Nevertheless, tonight, I shall be entirely at  _your_  service."

Her mind didn't stay quiet for long after he disappeared down the ladder. With an anxious rush she cleaned up a little in the wash basin and threw on the first pair of clothes that she could easily grab from her trunk.

The tavern was mostly deserted, which she expected to see as early as it was on a Wednesday morning. As she'd descended the stairs to Skyhold's courtyard she slowly began to feel a little more at ease. The bustle of Skyhold in the morning proved unexpectedly pleasant, its energizing newness at once increasingly familiar and yet still novel enough to remind her of the drudgery of life before her arrival. Her mind flew back to Cullen's words in the pool; "the future that seemed so damned  _impossible_ … it's here, it's real, and we're in it right now." It was as beautiful and satisfying a thought as she could have, regardless of the impending conversations she still had to have.

She took a deep breath and climbed the stairs of the tavern to the highest floor, tuning into her wispy connection to the Fade in an attempt to sense Cole's location. She was surprised to see that the top floor was completely empty. Solas had said that this was where Cole lingered, but there was no indication that anyone ever went up there at all.

"Cole?" she called out quietly, and almost immediately she saw a flash of white in her peripheral vision. She turned to see him standing calmly before her, his pale blue eyes lit up with curiosity.

"She holds back a flood with a wall of silence," Cole said. Avery pursed her lips as she processed the statement. Who was "she"?

"Safe and solid, protecting and proud. He feels like quiet, stronger when you hold him."

She nodded, trying to keep the confusion off her face. That last line sounded like Cullen, and it sparked a flutter of wings somewhere deep in her stomach. She repeated the words in her head, filing them away for later contemplation.

"Cole, Anon needs you," Avery said. "His family… his whole clan has been—"

"I just saw Mahanon. I heard him before he arrived, echoes from the mountains." Cole's expression changed to one of sorrow. Clearly he'd already heard, if that was how he knews the things he did about people. As she wondered, she interrupted her own thoughts to question whether he was listening to her think right then. His head tilted.

"I am not listening to you right now," he said, betraying himself despite his words.

Avery couldn't help but bark out a surprised laugh.

"Well, I wasn't trying to listen. The listening just happens. I don't want to intrude," he insisted calmly. She gave a him a reassuring grin and instinctively reached out to lay her hand upon his arm. But she stopped in mid motion.

"You can touch me. You might not feel anything, but I will."

All at once she finished the move, feeling little under her fingers but what may as well have been the lightest of gauzy fabrics, yielding to her touch like a curtain to a breeze.

She withdrew her hand and looked back up into his eyes. As ghostly pale as they were, she could feel the kindness there.

"What does it feel like to you?"

"You feel nervous. Your stomach hurts with it, all the time, always aching. Except when you're with him."

She nodded in agreement. There could be only one "him".

"Yes. So you don't feel the sensation of being touched… the feel the things the person touches you feels?"

"I feel that anyway," he answered gently.

"Yes, of course you do. So did you…  _help_  Mahanon?"

"As much as he would let me. I don't take memories themselves, but he was afraid I would. So I was extra careful. He still hurts, but he can work again."

She gave a light laugh, but despite that being the reason she'd come in the first place, the knowledge somehow only made her feel more nervous.

"Can you tell, from this far away how Cullen is? If there is anything he needs, anything that might help with… things?" she asked, not quite sure how to articulate what she was asking. The question shouldn't have been a complicated one, but she was suddenly all too aware of her aching stomach. There was a dull cramping that seemed to be an almost constant force since the incident at the Winter Palace, and it reminded her very much of how she always felt before Cole had first visited her. It was different, but somehow the same. She supposed no cure could ever be permanent, as long as life kept moving and changing.

"He likes it when you burn brightly. He's not supposed to like it, and that makes it better. Forbidden, secret, sacred. It feels like metal suits and averted eyes. The mage in the Gallows with the black hair. But she never stays. She's not in the Circle."

She slowly put together what he was saying. Cullen likes it when she… uses her magic? Of course he's never had any complaints about the electric trick, but she sort of assumed that underneath he might still be a little uneasy about the fact that she was a mage. It was a large reason why she didn't use her magic more often. Only when she had to; when they needed fire or healing, or a quick orgasm.

"You're the girl with the black hair," Cole said, as though he only just figured it out himself. "He always wished you'd have stayed."

She did laugh then, and tried to reach out to give him another affectionate pat. But her hand fell straight through the air.

"I'm staying now," she said.

"He's glad."

After leaving the tavern she sought Cassandra, turning first to the little nook with the wooden practice dummies, and seeing nothing there she stopped and took a broad survey of the upper courtyard. The verdant trees were bursting with birdsong, the echoes of laughter and conversation bouncing off the stone walls. She wandered throughout the length of the fortress with her eye peeled for the distinctive Seeker emblem, smiling at those who nodded to her as she walked. Near Bonny's market table a cluster of youngish girls were whispering among themselves, occasionally turning a curious eye toward her. Avery nodded at the girls and smiled warmly, assuming they might have been among the Commander's many admirers, gawking now at the visiting stranger who'd moved into his quarters so quickly after her arrival. Or perhaps they knew who she was by now, since it was hardly much of a secret any more. Somehow the gossip felt less oppressive than what she'd seen in the Winter Palace. This, at least, was harmless. The girls could say whatever they wanted and Avery would probably never know, nor need to know, the contents of their hushed discussions. It was likely that they were jealous, or in awe, as she could imagine any young, hopeful girl infatuated with Cullen might be. How much of a heartbreak it would have been to have him stolen off the market by some unknown outsider. Avery made a point of making eye contact with as many of them as possible, and at least two of the girls broke their wide eyed gaze to crack a smile back at her. She walked away feeling strangely triumphant.

Cassandra was in near the kitchen, sitting alone at a table before an empty plate, her eyes buried in the center pages of an enormous tome. Avery joined her quietly, her stomach beginning to growl a little from the savory scents wafting from the kitchens. As soon as Cassandra saw her, she closed the book and pushed it, and her plate, off to the side, leaning forward with an intense expression.

"Good, I was hoping I'd see you soon," she said.

"I take it you heard?" Avery asked.

"I did," Cassandra sighed and shook her head. "And though this requires discussion, I am not quite sure what to say. Surely there is no one truly at fault. Cullen cannot control his nightmares, and neither of us could have stopped him. Had I been there I would not have known anything was wrong either until after it was done, unless I camped out in his bedroom and tried to stop him by force, which only would have caused a greater scene. You were, I assume, sharing his bed, but I hear you were injured in the… event?"

Avery nodded. It was only a small relief that the word had already made it to Cassandra. Someone obviously felt it important enough to relay to her right away.

"Did Anon tell you?" Avery asked.

"No. It was Bull. Mahanon, I assume, is still reeling from his own news. Which, as morbid as it sounds, may work in Cullen's favor."

The nerves flared in Avery's gut again. She'd struggled since the wagon with that very conundrum. Anon being preoccupied with his loss meant he might not have the mind to focus on dealing with Cullen. But to see any person grieving as hard as he was had become its own hardship, made all the worse by how it echoed her own loss in so many ways. She wanted him healed, or helped, but she also wanted him not to rush to exact consequences onto Cullen, if that was what he intended to do.

"Cole may have already helped out with that," Avery informed her. She did not relish the pale look of concern that fell over the Seeker's face.

"Have you talked to Mahanon?"

"I've tried a few times now… he hasn't been in a good enough place to talk."

Cass nodded, her eyes searching the tabletop as she considered Avery's words.

"Do you feel that he might retaliate for what you did? You apparently kept him from going to Cullen after Cullen caused the big disturbance?"

"Yes," Avery sighed. "It would have been worse if he'd bothered Cullen then. Cullen didn't even want  _me_  close…"

"You should go now, then. Try to find Mahanon, apologize. Even Bull remarked on how he seemed to look up to you. It's possible you might be able to persuade him to stay his hand now that Cole has… done whatever it is that thing does to people."

Avery frowned at the tone that took over her words when she referred to Cole. With another determined nod, she rose from the table. She vowed to herself that after the discussion she'd return to the kitchens for a bite to eat, and maybe to make a plate for Cullen.

With a growing urgency Avery crisscrossed through the Great Hall, venturing up into the library and almost crashing into a mustached mage, and shortly after earning a curt nod from Leliana when she stuck her head up into the rookery. Solas offered a quiet greeting each time she passed through the rotunda, and then she made her way to the gardens.

Walking into the gardens was like walking into a forest paradise, the cries of birds almost piercingly loud there, cutting through the low murmur of residents as they wandered and gathered in solemn conversation. Mother Giselle was standing before a small group of sitting women, and carefree laughter rang out from under the gazebo. There were stairs leading up to more battlements overhead, and Avery climbed the stairs quickly, wondering if maybe she could get a better view of the grounds from above. Surely Anon had to be somewhere. If he wasn't in the Hall, or the tavern, but yet he'd already been out enough to see Cole, then chances were good that he was not holed up in his quarters again and was wondering about somewhere he might be seen.

She made a quick lap around the battlements, peering down into each stretch of open space, trying to make a point to let her eyes land upon every head and rule them out before moving on. But the people were numerous, and many of them moved in and out of doorways, disappearing and being replaced by new faces more quickly than she could tally them.

Somewhere around the upper courtyard, she descended the stairs and ran into the armory. Perhaps he was acquiring some new weapons? But the armory was empty.

Her breath began to catch as she sprinted back toward the Great Hall, and to the undercroft. This was where Solas had directed her to go whenever she was ready to craft a new staff, and when the door opened she heard the entirely too cheery voice of a girl who turned out to be a pleasant looking dwarf, rambling on to a tall human man who wore a scowl that seemed to indicate he was not interested at all in her topic of discussion. The room was breathtaking, overlooking a break in the rock that would have sent her back out of the room in a fright, at least if the view of the valley beyond hadn't been obscured by large work tables and blacksmith stations.

With a frustrated sigh, she turned around and left. Surely there were more places in Skyhold than those she'd already been, but nearby there was one other option that could have been likely. Perhaps he actually had retreated to his quarters. With a shrug, she walked across the platform and past a large throne-like chair, and over to the wood door on the opposite side of the room. The door creaked as she let herself in, and padded quietly up the toward the highest floor. Halfway up, she decided sneaking wasn't the way to go and began to call out.

"Anon?"

She heard no answer, but continued to climb, rounding a corner until she was faced with an impressively spacious room that somehow contained more mess than it seemed should be possible. She stood at the top of the stairs and gawked for a moment. Clothing was strewn everywhere, the bed was a mess, and on a table sat a collection of half empty liquor bottles and stained glasses. Several of the glasses had smudges of red lipstick, and Avery rolled her eyes as she turned to descend the stairs again, and let herself quietly out of the main door and back to the Great Hall.

Her mind was flying through the remaining options when a thought occurred to her. If what she was fearing was that Anon would go to Cullen and order him to take a draught of lyrium, then staying close to Cullen might be the easiest option. She nodded to herself as she walked, confirming her own decision while striding purposefully out the door, aiming herself directly for his tower. Even if she just sat in the loft and read for a while, she would hear the moment Anon's voice echoed up the tower. She could be down there in a heartbeat, and ready to offer whatever apology was necessary, whatever bargain that needed to be struck to prevent the worst from happening. With each step she breathed a little easier. It would certainly not be a chore to be close to Cullen. She actually really enjoyed listening to him conduct business with his men. He always sounded so sure of his decisions, his voice ringing clear and confident through the room when he gave an order. He was a much harder man for his soldiers than he was for her, and she couldn't deny finding it particularly arousing. She sometimes had to remind herself that Cullen controlled a legion of over a thousand troops, as it rarely occurred to her in their private moments. She always saw the tender, love-struck version of him, and as beautiful as that was, catching glimpses of his other many facets was downright dazzling.

She was smiling to herself at the thought when she pulled the door to the tower open and took a step inside. Immediately she froze.

Even before she registered the expression on their faces, she felt the tension in the air. It was as thick as a stifling cloud, the walls seeming to have absorbed a slew of angry words and then spit them right back out again, leaving the emotions to bounce around and saturate the room. Anon's dark eyes were wide, his expression grave enough to land like a boulder on her chest. She barely heard the door click shut behind her for the ringing that was beginning to fill her ears.

"No," she croaked as she took a deep breath. She warned herself to calm down, that she didn't know yet what was happening. Even as she thought it her eyes flew to Cullen, and what she saw there only filled her with dread.

She forced herself not to jump to conclusions, to try to slow her suddenly panicked breathing, to try to listen over the rushing of blood filling her ears.

"No," she said again to Anon. His eyes flicked from her back to Cullen and then to her again. She swallowed hard. "Please, don't do this Anon."

And then she saw the box. The little wooden box, sitting open on Cullen's desk. Beside it, scattered over the papers on his desk were three blue vials. But they were full.

Anon remained silent, watching her warily, a small spark of fear in his eyes as his brows furrowed.

The lack of response sent her over the edge. He didn't even have the fucking decency to talk about it first? To hear her out? She'd only been trying to do him the courtesy of respecting his grief in those times she'd hadn't brought it up before, but now he wasn't even saying a single fucking word.

She watched herself as if from far away. Her steps felt both slow and lightning fast, and there was no pain as her fist smashed down onto the blue vials, shattering one, and then the other, and then other, leaving a slow drip of a iridescent blue all over Cullen's papers. In a spot, the blue mixed with red, and somewhere in a distant place she felt the bite of glass inside the flesh of a faraway hand, but the movement didn't stop. The evil wooden box was thrown to the floor, and she saw her boot come down upon it, again and again, until another vial bounced out and rolled across the floor. She followed it breathlessly, her body compelled with a force she didn't seem to be able to control, and soon it was crushed under her boot as well and the room was silent again.

Neither Cullen or Anon had moved, and it seemed the sudden attack of violence had been completed in the blink of an eye, possibly before they had the instinct to react.

But even still, as the second ticked on, they were not reacting, and as she waited she inwardly began to curse.  _Fuck._  That was the exact sort of thing that had happened in the courtyard. Did she have no control of her own? Her chest was heaving, aching with the effort to drink in the thick air around them, and Anon looked again from Cullen to her, and then back again.

"It's too late," he said quietly.

Avery glanced to Cullen in time to see him open his hand. The soft clink of glass hit her ears first, before her brain understood was it was seeing. An empty vial rolling off his palm and across the new mess of his desk.

She felt stuck in an infinite loop of time as she stood there. It could have been a second, it could have been two hours, it could have been a life time. But no matter how long she stood there, it was too late. It was already  _too fucking late._  Cullen's face was a mask of barely concealed disgust, but he wasn't looking at her. He was looking down at the blue covering his desk, his shiny metal chestplate rising and falling.

The ringing in her ears slowly morphed into shrill screams and for a heartbeat, the world before her eyes went white. When it cleared she was walking toward Anon, light flickering off the stone walls before her as threads of lightning climbed up her hands, her arms. The thick air of the room seemed to shudder with the vibration of her magic, emerging again as it had in the courtyard, taking her over in a moment of blind panic. She saw Anon's hand go for his belt, surely reaching for a hidden blade, and she tried to catch herself in the moment, before she moved too far, before she made things worse  _yet again,_  and tried to talk herself down.

_You can't kill the Inquisitor._

A blast of energy like a punch to the gut sailed through her, and the room fell dim again. It took a moment, but she recognized what had happened. It had been a while since the first time he'd done it, but Cullen had silenced her.

"Avery," he called, his voice lost somewhere in a miasma of frantic heartbeats and raging thoughts. She was no rogue, but she was small, and fast, and she owed that fucking elf. The price for a kiss. If that was all she could collect, then now was the time. With another quick step and a stretch of her hand, she landed the hardest blow she could muster against Anon's jaw. His pocket dagger clattered to the ground as he fell back against the stone wall.

She stood and forced her breathing to slow, something in her continuing to try to reach or her magic and finding her well of mana dry, her fingers staying cool and lacking the forceful thrum of her lightning. She was still as she watched the elf recover, watched him shake his head and pull himself to a stand, and a light hand grazed her back. Her name came again, a smoky voice from a face she was afraid to look at.

Anon stood and faced her down, and she suddenly felt utterly defeated. She turned for the door, ready to leave. Cullen had promised he would try his best not to let him do that. He had  _promised_. She pushed the door open before remembering she needed to pull instead, kicking and banging as she forced the bloody thing to open, but a steely grip closed over her arm and stopped her from slipping through.

"No," said Cullen behind her, and she turned to try to pull out of his grip. She didn't want him, she didn't want anyone. Once again in her pathetic fucking life she had failed. Once again someone she loved would know pain, pain that she could have stopped. She tried to pry his fingers of her arm, wanting to just get away, her stomach burning with the desire to just run, to scream, to be alone somewhere that she could rail, and sink into the same old self loathing that used to consume her. But she couldn't free herself.

"No," Cullen said again, his hand grabbing her other arm and trying to stop her as she flailed.

She saw him turn to Anon and heard a voice roaring with fury that she didn't recognize from the man holding her.

"You. Get out. You got what you wanted!" Cullen was growling, his face screwed into a snarl, stunning her with its vitriol. Even Anon seemed to go even more pale. Cullen dropped one of her arms and pulled open the door, pointing toward it with a hateful glare that seemed to hit Anon with the force of a blow. " _OUT!"_

"You," he said to her, his voice softer. "Stay." He picked her arm up again. His grip was unbreakable and tight, but as soon as she heard the door close behind her he released her. She turned for the door again, her brain operating on automatic, the room feeling small, too small, smothering and loud and full of everything she feared.

"Please," he urged as he slid between her and the door, making his body a barrier.

"The last time you walked away from me with that look in your eye you never came back," he said, his voice desperate enough to make her pause. The pause stretched on and on while his words wormed down into her heart, piercing and burrowing, and then sending guilt and regret coursing through her without mercy.

Finally she looked into his eyes, and all desire to flee drained away. He couldn't really think she wouldn't come back? That she'd ever wanted to not come back?

"He said if I didn't take it, that he'd send you away. And you'd no longer be welcome in Skyhold."

The words sounded wrong, like poison dripping from his tongue, and she shook her head, trying to reject them completely. Mere moments ago it seemed, she'd been savoring the feeling of her new home, the welcome bustling, the increasingly familiar faces, the fortress that housed her future husband.

But what overpowered her mind more and more in the moment was Cullen's face. Whatever remnants of her rage still lingered dissipated completely. With her eyes and her heart and with all the knowledge she had of the man before her, she finally saw what she hadn't seen as she stood there with the two of them. As much as she had taken it as a personal failure, it had, of course, hit Cullen hardest of all. _Of fucking course_ it had. She exhaled as she watched him crumple inward before her very eyes, the tension in his body falling away as he realized she wasn't going to leave, the far away look in his eye as he thought about what he'd just done, or been made to do. She felt the tears come as he dropped to his knees before her, pulling her close and and burying his face in her chest.


	26. Chapter 26

Avery locked all the doors to the office. It was only afternoon, but if anyone had any business to bring to Cullen, it would have to wait. He fell back into his chair and stared down at the mess of his desk, his stony face painted with the same shock and numbness that Avery felt.

"Were those important?" she asked as she eyed the chaotic scene before them. Scrolls, pieces of parchment, books, now covered in shards of glass and an ocean of blue stains, not to mention the mess on the floor. Finally she felt the pain in her hand again, stinging now as the lyrium seeped into the wound alongside yet more shards of bloody glass.

Cullen nodded.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly. The mess seemed the last possible thing to apologize for, but she didn't know what else to say, or do. Cullen only shrugged.

In a few heavy, exhausted steps she collapsed onto the floor beside his chair and let her head fall back to rest on his knee. There was still the uneasy void of magic within her, but also no question that silencing her had been necessary. As badly as she'd wanted to crush Anon under her boot just as she had the lyrium box, no good could have come from further retaliation, especially if he was already on the brink of evicting her.

She shook her head, the sour tang of bile rising in her throat as she thought with disgust about comforting Anon in the wagon. He'd probably known that whole time that he was going to threaten to make her leave. Everything about him now seemed vile and detestable. She had empathized with him, "bonded" with him, or so he claimed. She might even have agreed that they had made some sort of connection, despite all the moments of tension and the unwanted advances. Whatever twisted spark of friendship that had been kindled at the ball was gone. It had been threatened that night in the courtyard, but it was obliterated now. It had to be. Avery wasn't sure how she could ever even look at him again.

"Next time will be different. It'll be easier," she said as her mind retreated somewhere deep into the quagmire of her thoughts. If only she'd gotten there sooner, or if she'd never left the tower. If she'd just stayed in bed and not rushed out to find Cole… find Cole with the intention of having him  _help_  that blighted bastard…

Avery winced again and squeezed at the strain in her drawn brows. Her impulse was to castigate herself for failing so spectacularly every step of the way: not helping Cullen sleep after the ball, not speaking in the wagon on the ride home, her being everywhere but where she should have been that very morning… She'd thought she was doing the right things, but she couldn't have been more wrong. Somewhere in the darkness, a small rational voice encouraged looking to the future. What was done, was done, and now there was only moving forward. But she wasn't ready to hear that yet, even as she recognized its truth. She wanted to mourn her failure, to sink despondently into a pit of despair. But indulging in that wasn't truly an option. As devastated as she felt, she wasn't the victim. It was Cullen's well being that was still the priority.

"When this is over, you won't have to try to juggle so much at the same time. And I'll be there," she continued. "It'll be different."

It was small consolation, she was sure. And probably not the ideal time to make such reassurances, but she was saying it for herself as much as for him. It helped a little remember the fact that the future  _still_  was not set in stone. Regardless of what had happened, the worst possible outcome wasn't guaranteed. Not yet. She repeated this to herself as images of the two of them leaving Skyhold together played vividly over her vision, scenes of finding a private, peaceful place for him to detox safely, of leaving the Inquisition and all its demands far behind. But of course before any of that could be possible, that damned demon thing needed to be defeated again.

His hand found her head, still resting where it had dropped against the armored lip of his boot. He smoothed softly over her hair, and she turned to look up at his disconcertingly expressionless face. He still stared off into the distance, as motionless as a statue, until his eyes flicked to hers and he softened into a worried frown. She pulled his hand down to kiss it, and yelped with the sting of an embedded shard of glass brushing against his leg.

"Come here," he whispered, gesturing for her to get up into his arms. She climbed off the floor, feeling as though her body was made of cold lead, and lowered herself into his lap, watching his dark eyes as he picked up her hand and turned it to study the wound. Though she'd cried in the forest at the mere thought of him taking lyrium again, somehow the tears weren't coming then. She almost wanted them to come, but was shocked into a sort of emotional paralysis. At first she'd wanted to scream, wanted to bring Skyhold down brick by brick, but as they stood for countless minutes in front of the door with Cullen taking refuge in her arms, a strange calm had overtaken him. And that calm had proven infectious, a sickly ooze of mute defeat that crawled over them both, smothering any possibility of further action. Cullen appearing so devoid of emotion was both a strange comfort, and gave her chills. She didn't want him to hurt, but she also didn't want him to cut himself off from the anger that he should rightly feel.

She hissed as he pulled a sliver of glass out of the wound, and then brought her fingers to his lips for a kiss.

"Would you have killed him?" he asked without looking at her.

"I would have tried not to," she said. "Whether I would have succeeded at that though…" She let it trail off. She'd like to think she had more control, but what happened in the courtyard, and how quickly she'd been overtaken again truly made her wonder.

"I haven't silenced anyone since before I left the Order," he whispered.

"I'm sorry you had to."

"No,  _I'm_  sorry. I wanted nothing more than to see what you were going to do to him, and join you. But… the Inquisition needs that little shit. All of Thedas…" He shook his head, the wrinkle between his brows deepening. "… needs that little shit." He went back to picking the glass from her palm, his fingertips quickly darkening with a rusty coating of blood. She looked away from it abruptly, her mind flashing with unwanted images from her past. His fingers paused.

"Let me grab the light," he began, casting his eyes toward the nearest lantern. "If I could see better this might be easier to do without hurting…"

She shook her head, and offered an attempt at a smile.

"No, it's… not the pain," she said.

He was quiet, waiting and observing her face closely. Slowly, the numb wound of her heart began to warm a little as she took in all the beloved little details of his face, hovering as close to hers as it was. It was hard to tell from a distance how beautifully long his eyelashes were. The light blonde tips just made the length seem to disappear. And anyone else might never see the pale smattering of freckles over his cheeks. Her heart ached with the desire to kiss every single one. Instead she looked down at her hand, at the slow drip of blood that was falling off her hand and joining in with the blue spatters sprayed over the skirt of her robe.

"You know I was in Kirkwall for a few days after… after I last saw you in the Gallows," she said, and then sighed, trying to purge the weight of the memory out of her chest. He'd said he'd given her the letters because he wanted her to know him, to make sure it didn't feel as though there was any distance. In the days and hours since he'd said that, she realized there was much more of herself she could be,  _should be_  sharing in return. Getting away from the habit of staying silent during her own overwhelming moments would not be easy, but it was only fair.

Cullen nodded, "I heard. You were helping to pull people from the wreckage."

He turned her hand over again, and squinted while searching within the pulpy mess for an easy piece to pull.

"There was…  _so much_  broken glass," she continued with a shaky exhale.

He nodded again. "I don't know if I saw a single intact window there afterward."

He closed her hand carefully in his and let them drop gently into her lap

"I'm surprised I didn't see you," he continued. "I was there too. Well, in the Docks for a while, first. But we eventually made it up to Hightown and the… where the Chantry had been."

Avery let her head fall onto his shoulder and nuzzled into the nook of his neck. She'd deliberately kept her head down that whole time and tried to concentrate on the task at hand, fearing that eventually she might see him. What that task had required her to see was no easier.

"You must have handled some gruesome wounds there. We desperately needed a healer ourselves, but the mages, the few of them that stayed behind anyway, would flee as soon as they saw the Templar armor. The surgeon was overwhelmed, trying to fix people with dirty equipment and a limited supply of potions. Too many people and not enough time. It was… well. You know what it was."

She nodded, brushing her nose against the stubbled skin of his neck.

"Is that what you were thinking about at the Winter Palace? After the… incident."

She nodded again. "If I never have to pull glass out of a person again, even myself, I will thank the Maker." He gave a squeeze and for a moment she felt guilty. Here he was again, comforting her. She tried to shake the memories away. The one thing she'd been somewhat thankful for within all that chaos was how much easier it had made it to leave. Even if she wished now that she hadn't. Quickly, she looked up.

"Cullen… what you said before, about my not coming back…" she began, feeling her heart flutter. "I will always come back. Shit, if I'd gotten a few or even one of your letters back then I might have turned right around and taken my chances with an arrest. But you said that you couldn't… you couldn't get caught sneaking around with a mage. And you know how hard it would have been to see each other, to try to be normal around each other. We wouldn't have been able to do it."

He gave a small shrug, and to Avery's surprise, the beginnings of a weak smile. Was it possible? Could he really smile right after all that had just happened?

"Maybe I would have left the Templars sooner. They needed me for a while, but… it wasn't long before I started having my doubts."

She finally attempted to apply a measure of healing to her now throbbing hand, but found her mana still empty. She sighed and gave it up. She had no choice but to continue to wait.

"Yes. You said as much in the letters," she said softly. "Well I will always come back now. You know that it's inevitable that we'll disagree on some things. We'll argue or fight, and maybe I'll storm off. Or maybe you will. But I'm not really going anywhere. You don't ever have to worry about that. You didn't need to worry about that today."

He laughed softly, and the sweet sound was relieving enough to almost finally bring forth a deluge of tears. She was trying not to think about the lyrium, about what it would mean when the time came that he would try again, the suffering he would have to endure, what she would have to witness without being able to help. She was trying most of all not to think about  _him_  thinking those thoughts, dreading the future and the pain again. But that awareness was there in the background of everything else anyway, playing on diligently no matter how hard she tried to ignore it.

"Can you still silence me without lyrium?" she asked as the thought occurred to her.

"Yes," he said.

"Well, I'll try not to give you any more reason to."

He snorted again and she pressed a light kiss onto his cheek. And then another onto his jaw. His head turned and rested onto hers.

"Yes, that's not really like you," he said. "I'm not going to be the only around here with a reputation for a hot temper anymore."

"That's only because I was fighting for _you_ ," she said. "Or I wanted to anyway. I don't know if I've ever been so angry in my life. I still am."

"My fearsome, wonderful Champion," he sighed and repositioned his arms around her, holding her tighter. "Thank you for loving me."

She turned and kissed him softly, pouring her heart into the joining of their lips, her caresses of his cheek. His tongue had the metallic tang of lyrium, a taste she hadn't known since her own last draught, which felt like it was ages ago. For a precious, fleeting moment she had a flash of being back on the ledge in the Docks, tasting the old familiar flavor of a secret, forbidden kiss.

When they finally rose and finished cleaning up his office, the sun was gone from the sky. She stared at the window with the disconnected sense that they'd lost a chunk of time somewhere, that only moments ago it had been morning. Everything since the confrontation with Anon seemed to have passed in a blur, and that whole time no one had bothered to knock on the door. It was as if everyone knew not to to disturb him now, and she realized that it was quite possible that was actually true.

Cullen stood beside his desk looking around the room. Avery noticed while they were cleaning that he'd have moments where he'd suddenly get caught in a daze, stopping and looking off into space for a moment, before snapping out of it and resuming what he was doing. Avery wanted to ask what he was thinking during those moments, but decided to assume that if he wanted to talk about it, he would. He'd already been pushed enough to do things he didn't want to. Instead of asking what he was thinking, she asked him simply how he felt.

He rubbed the back of his neck as he thought about his answer.

"I feel…  _right_. Like there was a piece of me missing that has been put back into place," he said quietly, but the conflict was clear in his darkened eyes. He shook his head as he wheeled around to look into the blackness outside the window. "I wish it didn't make me feel so good. I don't  _want_  it to feel good."

"Is there anything I can do?" she asked as she approached him.

"No. Thank you, love," he said, "Just maybe give me a few minutes…"

She gave Cullen's arm a squeeze and began the climb up to the loft, her body feeling sluggish and slow as she pulled rung over rung and rose into the darkness of the upper floor. She'd finally begun to feel the low hum of mana as her connection to the Fade grew stronger and stronger with the wearing off of his silencing. But the sting of lyrium still bit inside the punctures, and she sighed as she realized she'd have to do some aggressive scrubbing to get it out before she could apply any healing.

Standing in the middle of the room, she habitually waved a hand toward the lantern, feeling what little mana she'd had drizzle away again. She laughed bitterly. She'd just sentenced herself to more waiting around.

After pouring some water into the basin she lathered up the soap and set about cleaning her wound, each motion feeling slow and completely mindless, as though her body had been switched into some automatic setting. Peals of pain shot up her arm as she rubbed the dried flakes of blue out of the tears of skin, in the process breaking open a fresh bleed that first turned the water in the basin pink, and then red, and then a scarlet so deep and thick it almost looked black in the dim light of the room. She had to mentally order herself to stop scrubbing, leaving the bloody basin behind while she sat on the bed with a cloth pressed firmly against her torn flesh, waiting out the long seconds it was taking for the mana to drip back into her stores.

Finally alone for the first moment since that morning, she tried to roll the stiffness out of her shoulders and arch her back in a stretch, and immediately felt as though she'd been dropped from a four story building. Everything was sore, her muscles aching from unknowingly being held tense for hour after hour, her mind and heart somehow still strangely numb even as it also felt full of disorganized turmoil. After tying the cloth onto her hand she unlaced her boots and kicked off her robe, grabbing up the closest of Cullen's white tunics and throwing it over her head before falling back onto their bed and looking hazily toward the opening in the ceiling. A cool breeze was whispering into the room, softly caressing her bare legs and causing the leaves of Ivy to flutter. Beyond the gap in the ceiling, the sky was a featureless vacuum, a flat note of black with the stars apparently hidden behind some distant cloud cover. She absently wished there were stars to see, particularly the pair of them that always seemed to show directly through the gap in the middle of the night. Side by side the fixed points of light traveled from one edge of the gap to the other as the night went on, twinkling and flaring, never drifting apart, always keeping close enough to make them look like twins. Or possibly even lovers.

Suddenly Cullen was shaking her awake, the dim room grown even dimmer from the fading of the lantern. Avery was startled into the eerie sensation that yet another chunk of time had just completely slipped out from under her. The whole day had seemed timeless and infinite, yet had passed in a dizzying blink. She'd meant only to wait for Cullen, but apparently she had slept, and slept hard. Cullen hovered over her while he waited for her, donning only his loose brown breeches, with the shadows of the low burning lantern turning his tousled curls into a golden halo, and carving flickering lines between the muscles of his chest.

"Let's go get something to eat," he whispered.

She had the fogginess of sleep still clogging up the flow of her thoughts, and sat there for a long moment before realizing that they hadn't gone for food at all that day. She nodded as she sat up, accidentally putting weight on the painfully throbbing hand as she reached up to wipe her eyes. In a fit of sleepy irritation she forced a channel of healing to her hand, not even caring if there was glass still in her skin. She'd apparently slept long enough for the silencing to be done, and she was grateful to feel the flesh weaving itself closed, and indeed there were at least three more little slivers that were closed in, but she wasn't coherent enough to care. She shed the bloody bandage and climbed out of the bed, her brain feeling swollen, as though it was pressing against the walls of her skull. Her stomach did ache, churning with an emptiness so intense she had no idea how she'd ignored it all day.

She thrust her feet into her boots and didn't bother lacing them, just stuffed the laces down into the sides and stood in place to wait for Cullen. He laughed quietly, as he sat on the edge of the bed and carefully laced up his own.

"That's all you're going to wear? Just my tunic and your boots?" he asked with an amused grin. Avery looked toward the trunk, closed up tight but recently filled with freshly laundered clothes, then looked toward the robe still piled up on the floor that had drips of blood and lyrium splatters all down the side. Either of the two would require more work than she cared for. The tunic was loose and hung down to mid thigh, long enough not to give anyone a glimpse of her goods. She shrugged wearily.

"I've got smalls on. Besides no one else is going to be out there, and even if they are…" she sighed, assuming that it had to be as late as it felt. "So what?"

And it truly was late, the courtyard completely deserted, with even the tavern uncharacteristically silent. She looked up into the starless night as they walked hand in hand toward the side entrance to the kitchen, and something about peering into the gaping abyss above her brought back all the day's worries crashing back.

"Did you keep all the logs?" she asked as they approached the kitchen door.

"Logs?"

"You wrote in your letters that when you were trying to quit lyrium the second time, you'd started keeping logs. Records of your symptoms and things you'd done that day…. Trying to see patterns and correlations," she explained, "you still had all your letters… do you still have those logs?"

Cullen held the door open and Avery paused for a moment, searching her memory for where the braziers and lantern had been located the last time they were there.

"It's on the counter to your left," Cullen whispered, knowing what she was looking for. She lit it quickly and turned back around, to see him searching his mind. But he did not asnwer as he strode deeper inside, walking straight to the fireplace to jab at the ashes in search of hot coals.

"I might, actually," he said eventually. "I'll have to do some digging. The letters were… special. I always thought I'd give them to when I saw you again, or some of them at least, so I kept close track of them. Plus, they would have incriminated me to the Order. So many papers have been in and out of my office here though, so I'm not entirely certain what else remains."

He walked over to a basket on a far counter and picked through the contents, pulling out two shiny apples and grabbing up a small burlap sack. He dropped them on the table near Avery and continued moving, travelling to the far end of the room and opening a tall cupboard.

"What do you want them for?" he asked.

"So I can study them, and prepare."

"Prepare?"

"For the next time. I should know as much as I possibly can about what to expect, don't you think?"

He was quiet as he returned with a jar of what appeared to be jam in his hand. He placed that next to the apples and moved immediately to the box of bread. Avery turned her body with him as he walked, watching as he moved with a mindless familiarity of the kitchen's arrangement and contents. After grabbing up a chunk of bread and a butter knife, he stopped before her, gazing down at her with pursed lips.

"Yes, my darling," he said softly. "You should definitely know as much as possible about what to expect."

He sat and began to spread jam over a chunk of pillowy white bread, finishing it quickly and setting it in front of her, before grabbing another chunk of bread and doing the same for himself. Avery fell quiet as she watched his hands work, almost becoming entranced by their sure, nimble motions. They looked strong and capable, but moved with such a quiet grace as he spread dollops of deep red into a perfectly even layer before dipping back into the jar for another perfect portion. An almost painful flood of tenderness came over her as she watched them, watched  _him._  How many times had he sat by himself in this kitchen, frying sandwiches and preparing a late, lonely dinner, with no one there to sit and appreciate the beauty of his hands?

When he'd placed the lid back on the jar, she took one of them, bringing it to her lips and pressing a heartfelt kiss onto the backs of his fingers.

"Were there many pages to them?" she asked.

"Yes, though they were inconsistent. I had two, maybe three opportunities in a normal day to sit at my desk and write, and often I preferred to write you," he said. He pushed an apple and chunk of cheese toward her and she immediately went for the bread and jam, almost moaning at the burst of sweetness that hit her mouth. At the first taste, she became fully aware of just how ravenously hungry she was and bites passed through and were gone almost before she could taste them. In the small burlap sack were a variety of nuts, and she dumped a handful into her mouth without stopping to pick through for the good ones like she normally would. There were no more words until every last morsel before both of them was gone.

"Darling," he began after they both sat back on their stools, hands over their sated bellies. "It is probably going to be a while before I get another chance."

She sighed, "so the Inquisition isn't even close to getting Corypheus yet?"

He shook his head. "There's so much yet to do… Mahanon is intent on going to the Western Approach soon, and that trip will take a bit of time. And we don't even know if what is going on with the Wardens is connected to Corypheus at all. It's possible that after all that we might not be any closer than we are right now," he said, "And after that it appears we'll be headed to the Arbor Wilds. Did you meet the mage from the Winter Palace? The one who was Celene's advisor, with the dark hair? Uh… Morgan or something?"

Avery shook her head. No one had even mentioned anything about a mage there, though she assumed that there had to be a few others within the crowd of guests.

"Well, she's apparently on her way here, and has some kind of information that she claims is relevant. She's to arrive in the next few days, I'm told. So, maybe that will be something. But… I mean, there's no way to know how long this is going to take, or even if we'll even succeed," he said. "It could be months, it could be years." He shook his head worriedly. "Maker, I hope not, but we have no way to know."

Avery frowned. "Well if you don't know, then it could just as likely be months. Anon seems to move fast, doesn't he? Surely he wants this done as much as we do?"

"Yes, I'm sure he does. But it would be foolish to be too hasty, to try to bring our forces to Corypheus without securing every possible resource first. The less prepared we are, the more likely it is that we  _will_ fail."

She nodded, feeling slightly discouraged, but refusing to be completely deterred. Much of what he was saying was common sense, but maybe there might be another way as well. Maybe whatever this mage had to say would be the key. Maybe Corypheus would bring forth another assault himself, one that could finally end it.

"Are you saying I should wait to begin to prepare? I mean, if it does take months, or years, what else am I going to do with myself in the meantime? I need to have  _something_  to do here…"

Even as she spoke a sickening possibility crept into her mind. One that she'd touched on earlier, and disregarded just quickly, whether due to the fear it induced or just because she was too overwhelmed to consider the possibility. But it was there now, hanging over her like the blade of a guillotine.

"Unless… I mean, might Anon make me leave anyway?" she asked as a shaky current of anxiety began to stream into her gut. "He said I could stay if you took the lyrium, but that was before I… before I barged in and, well, I almost murdered him. He felt threatened enough to pull a dagger on me. And I did actually  _hit_  him…"

The look in Cullen's eye as he considered her words was not comforting at all. Almost instantly her hands were shaking, her roiling stomach turning sour. He turned toward her, sliding a hand up her arm and pulling on her elbow until she scooted closer to him.

"I don't know," he whispered worriedly.

"What will we do if he tries? Are you sure your forces really would to fall apart if you left too? What if… what if the replacement was also someone they respected? Like Rylen? You mentioned him a lot in your letters. Isn't he here, somewhere? Would they stay for him?"

Cullen shook his head, his brows furrowing as he stared down into her lap.

"Rylen's actually already in the Western Approach, but I don't know if he would stay, even if it's to take over as Commander," Cullen said, "he always told me he wouldn't."

Cullen sighed and dropped his head, rubbing hard at his brows.

"Maker's breath. If you were my wife it might not be as easy for him to evict you. Every other high ranking resident of Skyhold has been granted the right to keep their family here if they choose. I should be no different. And then we could just argue that you were protecting your family, which you were whether he wants to admit it or not."

Avery looked around the table before them, reaching over to grab a glass of water and take a long drink. They'd spoken little about marriage, but it hardly seemed necessary.

She shrugged. "As far as I'm concerned, I already am your wife."

"But there's been no ceremony. It's not official or on record with the Chantry. I don't know if he'd try to argue the technicality," he said with a shake of his head. Avery took his hand and began to knead at the flesh of his palms, tracing the lines that curled around with her fingertips. His ring remained in the same place as hers, occupying the finger that marked them both as married to anyone that didn't know better.

"I've always wondered what kind of wedding you would like," he said with a half smile. "I find it hard to believe that you'd want anything big and extravagant. But I sort of thought that you might want to do it at a time when you could invite your friends? Fenris and Aveline? And whoever else. Varric's already here. I know my sister would  _love_  to be invited… "

A smile burst almost involuntarily onto Avery's face, like a beam of sun breaking through a thick storm cloud. The day had been so tumultuous, so stifled by the reality of their worst fear being realized, but imaging standing with Cullen before the Maker, regardless of wedding size or who was in attendance, made everything seem light again. It was dizzying how abruptly the threat of being cast out of Skyhold fell away. There was nothing she could do but smile as she conjured up the scene, and the warmth in Cullen's gaze only encouraged her, his eyes blazing with satisfaction as he watched her growing giddiness.

"Love," she began with a sigh, "I don't need anything extravagant. As much as I would love my friends to visit… it's not the wedding that's important. It's the promise that we'd make, and the lifetime that comes afterward. I would marry you right this second if there was a Holy Mother or Sister in this kitchen."

His eyes got dark for a moment, and then he broke out of it.

"Okay," he said.

She laughed, looking around the kitchen. She didn't need to confirm that it was empty, but she mimed the motion anyway, putting her hands up as if to say, nope, no one Holy in the kitchen.

His hand closed around hers and suddenly she was being yanked, through the room and to a door lost in the furthest reaches of the shadows, the one that led not outside, but up into the Great Hall. She let herself be pulled along, wondering what it was he could possibly think of doing in a giant fortress where every other soul was sleeping. After passing through a hallway and a large, dark room they finally approached more light in the stairwell, where one lit brazier was still burning. He stopped just before the stairs and turned back toward her.

"You do deserve a proper proposal, and I was going to, but I still hadn't found the right ring… " he said.

She snorted, teasing at the amber band that remained in its permanent home on her finger.

"I already have the ring," she said.

"Yes, but, don't you want something… I don't know, shinier?"

"No. I want this one," she answered without a moment's hesitation.

"Well, that makes this easy," he said as he dropped down to one knee. Avery watched him as though he was moving in slow motion, feeling the curious sensation of her spirit seemingly leaving her body and rising above them, taking in the surreal scene from a secondary position. It wasn't until his amber eyes clamped onto hers that she came back into herself, a hot tear coming out of nowhere to stream down her cheek.

"Avery, my darling, will you please marry me?"

She was already shaking her head yes, but realized that if he insisted that she deserved a proper proposal, then he certainly deserved more than just a nod in response, regardless of how enthusiastic a nod it was.

"Yes," she said, barely hearing the word squeak out of her throat. A rising tide of emotion was slowly filling her chest, rushing up behind her eyes and making her head feel light. She blinked another tear out of her eye. "There is nothing that I want more."

There was a quick but deep kiss, her fingers wound through his hair while he clutched the small of her back, and then the stairwell was whirring past, followed by a sharp turn. In what seemed like no more than the space between heartbeats they'd emerged into the fragrant oasis of the garden. Cullen turned right, the hand gripping hers growing sweaty as they moved, and they passed door after door until Cullen came to a stop before one in particular and knocked.

The sudden cessation of movement was jarring. She swayed in place for a moment, still getting her bearings while she looked around at the cluster of fireflies floating over a row of embrium. She distantly heard Cullen's second attempt at a knock as she made her way toward a torch sticking high out of the ground. With a wave of her hand it was lit, and the section of garden was illuminated, casting a flickering light over lush grass and delicate flowers. Avery took a deep breath and tried to stay present in the moment. It was happening so quickly as to seem like a dream, but the impossibly loud crack of the door opening lurched her back into herself. She turned to see an older women with caramel colored skin and closely cropped hair.

"Mother Giselle, I'm so sorry to bother you at this hour, but we, uh, we're having a bit of an emergency and we need your assistance," Cullen said breathlessly.

Giselle gawked confusedly at Cullen for a moment, blinking her puffy eyes while keeping her body hidden behind her door.

"An emergency? Is everything all right?"

"Yes, yes, it's nothing bad. But um… we need you to marry us. Please."

Avery felt the lingering smile strain her cheeks as she looked around at the flowers, at the broad back of the beautiful man before her, at the kind concern of the women behind the door.

" _That_  is your emergency?" Giselle asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Yes. I'm so sorry, but it is urgent," he insisted sweetly, then pulled Avery close, tucking her comfortably under his arm. "I can't live one more moment without this woman being my wife."

Giselle chuckled softly, and then nodded and held up a finger, indicating that she needed a moment, before retreating back behind the door and closing it gently. Cullen turned to Avery as he pulled her to face him, then luscious parted lips crashed onto hers in another kiss. She tried not to interrupt the kiss with her laugh, her smile pulling at the corners of her cheeks as she clutched him, raking her hands down the hills of his back and pressing her body soundly against his, feeling every previously numbed nerve come alive again and begin to sing.

As they walked out into the grass, Cullen pointed to the thicket of lavender, growing lush and tall near the gazebo.

"How about here?" he asked, his dark eyes glowing like bright coals. "Nothing makes me think of you more than the scent of lavender."

She laughed, and much louder than she intended to. The sound bounced off the walls, seeming to magnify further. There was no question why he'd chosen the lavender. The bathsoap. She breathed it in, savoring the sharp, medicinal scent. It was certainly one of her favorites.

"This is perfect," she said as she waved a flame onto another nearby torch. With a start, she remembered what she was wearing, and looked down at the flowing white of Cullen's oversized tunic. It hung loose and formless, with the neck almost coming off one shoulder. And below that, unlaced knee high boots over bare legs.

" _This_  isn't perfect, however" she grumbled as she looked down at herself. Cullen's laugh traveled straight to her heart, as carefree of a laugh as she'd ever heard. He pulled her close again, tilting her chin up to look into his eyes.

"You know this isn't just to keep you here in Skyhold. We would be marrying no matter what the circumstances. Maybe not right here, right now, but we  _would_  be marrying."

"I know," she reassured him.

"Maker's breath…" he sighed. "Somehow one of the darkest days I've had in years has just become one of the happiest of my life."

"Mine too," she agreed. 

She kissed him again then, her body quickly growing aroused as she pressed hard against him, pulling at his waist, legs and thighs sliding between each other. His mouth tasted like the berry jam, and she nibbled on his lip as she tried to calm her body's reaction to him. His hand finding her bare thigh reminded her of her clothing, and she pulled away. Mother Giselle should be emerging soon, and she wanted to try to tidy up a little bit.

After quickly weighing her options, she grabbed at Cullen's belt, unbuckling and pulling it free from his breeches. He put his hands up and let her have it, while she turned around and straightened out the tunic, pulling on the sleeves, and repositioning the whole thing so that it was centered. She wrapped the belt around her waist, figuring it was the least she could do to make the giant shirt look like a dress. And then tried to rake her fingers through her hair, but quickly felt them catch in a knot of tangles. With another grumble she pulled her hand free, and tried to just smooth everything down, pulling errant tendrils out of her face and combing through the wilder areas. When she was done she turned back around, seeing Cullen watching her with great amusement.

"Ta da!" she said as she looked down her body again. It wasn't exactly what she envisioned for the day she got married, but she supposed it could probably be worse. "Your blushing bride."

He grabbed her hands and pulled her toward him, the towering warmth of his body hovering tantalizingly close. She felt herself falling into the hypnotic pull of his lips when the door behind them opened again, and she heard the even steps of Mother Giselle approaching.

"You have never looked more beautiful," Cullen said.

"Okay," Mother Giselle said with a stifled yawn. "Let us begin."


	27. Chapter 27

Avery struggled to stay tuned in to the words Cullen spoke as her consciousness spun away from them in some elated delirium. What it was that was happening, what they were standing there doing, feeling, saying was so dizzyingly joyful and unexpected compared to everything else that had happened that day that it hardly seemed possible. The smoldering amber of his eyes kept some part of her anchored in reality, but still it felt as though the seconds in the moment were passing by too quickly, slipping out of her grasp faster and faster with every tick. Her lungs filled with the sharp scent of lavender, her hands enveloped by the warmth of his battle-hardened palms, her ears caressed by his earnestly spoken vows, and she felt all of it sharply, and yet nothing at once. In trying to blink away the disbelief she instead only loosed a few more stealthy tears.

"Before the Maker and the Holy Andraste, I promise to remain at your side until my final breath, to protect you, fight for you, love you and share with you everything that I have, and everything that I am."

The words traveled through her ears and straight through to the root of her, but when it was her turn to speak, a spell of otherworldly calm took full control. Her mouth opened and words spilled out, but when it was over she barely remembered what it was that she had said. There seemed to be a channel created that ran from her heart to her mouth which completely bypassed her own brain, though she could see in Cullen's pink rimmed eyes that her words had hit their mark. As Mother Giselle began to speak again, echoes of the vows she'd spoken arranged themselves into coherent memories, though still seeming disjointed and incomplete at best.

"…I promise you my undying love, and to try in every way to be worthy of your devotion… to find you again when we're both with the Maker, because just one lifetime together couldn't possibly be enough…"

It was over too quickly, sealed with a tear-stained, overeager kiss that made Mother Giselle chuckle and sigh as the grass whispered around her shifting feet. Eventually, Cullen gently broke away, leaving Avery to fall against his chest to hide her ecstatic sobs in his neck while he thanked Mother Giselle profusely, apologizing again for disturbing her so late. The old Mother yawned and uttered something about sending a bird to the Chantry the next day and then was gone, leaving them to the solitude of the garden.

For the next indeterminable period of time, words became superfluous. They spoke their joy with hands and lips and eyes as Cullen brushed back her hair and cupped her jaw, staring deeply into her eyes and laughing happily, as though none of the other devastating events of the day had even happened. She too giggled uncontrollably, admiring the ring she already loved so much but which became all the more special because now it truly meant exactly what it said.

But the moment didn't belong entirely to the two of them. She could feel the difference in him, could feel the familiar thrumming of the lyrium in his veins, a hidden current of something both new and old, something that she remembered from Kirkwall. His fatigue seemed to have disappeared, and his eyes were brighter and sharper. She cursed the evil paradox, that cruel fact that even as it enhanced him, it was racking up a bill that his mind and body would would suffer to pay, even if he never tried again to break free. The awareness of that made her chest draw tight, but the moment after they'd just been married, joined together before the Maker for the rest of their lives, did not seem the time to be pulled back into the sad undertow of her failure.

She kept the twinges of sorrow at bay by indulging in the physical experience of him, taking handfuls of his muscular back, arms and neck, and squeezing. She tested the softness of his lips with her teeth, dug her fingers under the waist of his pants, breathing in the natural musk of his skin, his hair and bringing it deeply inside her to deliver pleasure just like any sexual act. It was frightening for a moment to realize that he was composed of such breakable materials: just skin, bones and hair, all the same scarred, destructible components as she. Somehow something more divine within him gave those parts their life, turned them into more than mere cells arranged into the configuration of a person. He was fragile, fallible, vulnerable, and every breath he took seemed obscenely miraculous.

"I always hoped you'd end up my wife," he said with a pleased smirk. "So many times in the Gallows, I'd see you walk in with your little entourage and… I would just feel in my gut that it was supposed to be you. It's always been you."

She let her head fall against his chest while her hands worked themselves under his tunic, making contact with the warm velvety skin of his waist. She sighed heavily.

"I wish I'd noticed you more back then. I wish I hadn't been so blind," she said. "If I'd been paying attention I'm sure I would have known too. How could I not?"

Cullen kissed her head, his fingers rubbing soothing circles into her shoulders and back. "You had a lot on your plate," he said reassuringly. "And in your bed."

She laughed heartily at that. It seemed like a lifetime ago. There'd been a time, albeit a very short time, then that she wondered how anything could ever compare to the experience of sharing two men. That six hands would always be better than four hands, that being between two warm, eager bodies was exponentially better than just being up against one, that three people in love and desperate to please had to be the absolute height of sexual pleasure. Part of her wished she could go back in time to tell her younger self that despite those romanticized ideas about her, Fenris and Anders, it was the Knight-Captain in the shiny armor who was truly the man to keep her eye on. Maybe if she'd noticed him sooner they could have had more time back then. Maybe they'd have left Kirkwall together as they'd planned, and would have married a long time ago. Maybe they'd be busy making babies by now.

Somewhere over a battlement wall came the chirping of a bird, warming up his song for what could only have been an impending sunrise. The sky was still black and starless, with no hint of light from the east. But the walls around them were high, and the horizon was well hidden from view.

"Shall we return to bed Mrs. Hawke-Rutherford?" he asked quietly, his lips resting only inches from her ear. "It's been quite a day, and you're tired. We can honeymoon another night."

She nodded wearily and let herself be pulled back toward the entrance to the Great Hall, keeping her arms laced tightly around his waist. Before they moved too far, she bent down quickly and swiped up a handful of lavender reeds, thinking that their room would not suffer for the addition of a few fresh flowers. Maybe she'd try to sneak a reed or two into his desk, in case he might be tempted to think that their impromptu wedding was all a dream. She would probably need that reminder herself.

"My beloved husband, we'll be honeymooning for the rest of our lives," she said before giving in to a deep, satisfying yawn.

In the hour before the banging came upon the office door, Avery and Cullen slept like the dead. Their limbs entwined in a tangle, Avery draped so entirely over his body she was practically blanketing him. She realized as her mind emerged into the morning world that somewhere in the few hours they'd spent in bed, they managed to make love half-consciously, drifting from a dream state to a languid merging of bodies, moving together slowly until some spark of her distantly registered the warm spill of his seed between her thighs, and then fell seamlessly back into dreams upon finishing. She smiled at the thought that even when their minds were off exploring the ether, their bodies could not resist the call to join together, knowing what to do entirely on their own.

Cullen sat up and took a moment to extract himself completely from unconsciousness, and Avery watched as the memory of the previous day's events played behind his eyes. At first his expression was dark as his eyes flicked down to his hands and arms, inspecting himself as though the very body he inhabited felt different. A lump built up in Avery's throat, and immediately she was fully awake and tuned into him, waiting for the first sign that he might need reassurance that it was all only temporary. That despite that damned elf and his selfish directives, a day would come when they would strike out on their own and sever his lyrium leash once and for all. It  _would_  happen. They would  _make_  it happen. She sat up, poised and ready, gathering the words in her mind, but Cullen looked over at her and the storm clouds in his eyes parted. He paid no attention to the banging from below as he leaned down to capture her mouth in a heavy kiss. When he picked up her head and tilted his own, delving deeply between her lips with his tongue, it had the same effect as if he'd taken full possession of her body, ravishing her completely and leaving her breathless. She sighed as though she was drunk, the intoxicating aftertaste of his mouth mingling with the memory of their vows among the lavender, and wiping away everything else.  _My husband._

She fell back against the pillow and watched his beautiful naked form rush around the room, completing his routine dance with his clothes before disappearing down the ladder to relieve the door of its abuser. She heard his tone turn sharp as he dealt with whomever was there, and she flopped over onto her stomach and pulled his pillow close, digging her face into his scent and giving herself permission to sleep just a little bit longer.

The second time she woke to complete silence. The light in the room had changed, and she immediately felt as though she must have wasted half the day. She bolted out of bed and threw on the leathers that lay at the top of her trunk. For a brief moment in the middle of dressing, her panic waned. There was really nothing that she needed to do so urgently, at least that she was aware of. But the strangeness of the day before had her feeling as though she'd taken a long, unapproved break from life, and that so much must have been left to fall to chaos without her attention. With each piece of leather she slid on something uneasy began to build in her stomach. She had no idea what was happening out in Skyhold in the aftermath of her challenge to Anon. Was that elf out there right that very moment, preparing for her eviction? Was he telling the story of what a dangerous, unpredictable mage she was? Was he informing Cassandra and Varric and Solas of how she'd lost control of her magic and came toward him with murder in her eyes? Would she walk out into the sun and discover that everybody there now hated her? Or feared to have her living among them?

That the office below was so still was no reassurance. For all she knew Cullen had been pulled into yet another private meeting in order to discuss her future there, or lack of one. If he was having to argue that now they were married and he would be exercising his right to keep his family in Skyhold, then she wanted to be there with him, wanted to be able to help plead her side. Surely he would have fetched her if that was the case? Unless he didn't know himself the purpose for his summoning. If that was what had happened at all. She began to move faster, hurrying through all the clasps and pieces of the leathers, realizing she should have just gone with the more simple mage's robe even if that had meant digging in the trunk. It seemed yet another example of her shortsightedness, to pick the complicated outfit just because it was closer and easier to reach, and in the end saving herself no time at all. Further hampering her speed was the fact that she kept fumbling and dropping pieces, her hands becoming shakier with each new thought of what could possibly be going wrong out in Skyhold that very moment. She began to wish she'd not allowed herself that much needed extra sleep. She should have risen with Cullen. Oh, but Maker was she also growing so tired of all the 'shoulds' she'd been imposing upon herself. All the 'should'ing in the world hadn't stopped her from failing at everything she'd marked as important since her arrival there at Skyhold. She rolled her eyes at herself and shook her head. How it was that Cullen so fiercely loved such an ineffectual mess of a person was a complete mystery.

The one thing she took the time to do before leaving was scribble a quick note to sit under the lavender stalks she placed in the drawer of Cullen's desk. It was a simple note, which said only  _There are no words for how much I love you_ , though the thought crossed her mind to add more words to the message anyway. She tucked the little note under the fragrant flowers and paused a moment to smile to herself, admiring the precious orderliness of his minimal drawer contents. Something so simple and silly wouldn't be noticed by many, but somehow it seemed to represent so much of him and that made her chest swell with love. He was not a man encumbered by non-essentials. He knew what he wanted and what he needed, and kept those things close at hand. Avery beamed with pride at the knowledge that, for some confounding reason, she was one of his essentials.

She stepped out into a milky white day, the thick layer of clouds that hid the stars the night before still blanketing the sky above, smothering out the distant white mountain peaks. As she descended the stairs she noticed no eyes turning tellingly toward her, no expressions of fear or concern shining in her direction. Indeed everyone seemed to be moving about normally, completely oblivious to the unpredictable mage in their midst. She breathed a little easier as she took the first few steps across the grass, but it seemed premature to assume that everything everywhere was as fine as it seemed to be here.

With a heavy sigh she turned toward the upper courtyard, figuring she should first seek out Cassandra. Surely the Seeker had already been informed of Avery's failure to find Anon in time, and now there was the necessary discussion of what to do next. And, she figured, she should probably learn what repercussions Cassandra expected for Avery's outburst, assuming she'd already been informed about that too. But Cassandra was not in her usual spot in the courtyard, near the wooden dummies that the woman destroyed on a regular basis. Avery reached the tucked away nook of the courtyard and stood there for a moment, her confidence deeply shaken as she wondered what she should do from there. A little voice in the back of her mind warned that she'd probably also need to go talk to Anon, preferably alone, if he would allow it. But the thought of it turned her mouth sour. In a single, fell swoop Anon had destroyed whatever goodwill she'd cultivated for him and she wasn't entirely sure she trusted herself to face him again with the devastation of the previous day still so fresh. That he'd make Cullen take lyrium again was horrible enough on its own, even if she had come to understand his reasoning as he explained it in the Winter Palace library. But using the threat of expelling her to manipulate Cullen into self-harm rankled her so fiercely she could feel the sparks under her skin at the very thought.

"My darling," came Cullen's voice from behind her, sounding rushed and breathless. She turned to greet him, but her relief at his approach turned to worry when she saw his face. "You've been summoned to the War Room," he said gravely.

Avery raised an eyebrow as she turned to follow him back toward the entrance to the Great Hall, and he leaned in to speak quietly.

"I've been in there for the last hour. It is exactly as you feared… Mahanon is pushing for your removal despite the agreement we came to in my office," he said. "Thank the Maker we married last night. If we'd waited any longer… Maker's breath, I don't even want to think about it."

A sickening chill crawled up her spine.

"He doesn't waste a second does he?" Avery sighed. She chewed her lip nervously as she walked, her stomach beginning to roil with each step through the courtyard. She tried to console herself with the fact that if they had been in discussions for an hour already, then either their hasty marriage had been enough to hold off an automatic decision, or Anon had met with more opposition than he expected. Also if she was being brought in to the talks and possibly given a chance to speak on her own behalf, then perhaps that meant that things could still go either way.

"No, he doesn't," confirmed Cullen, giving her arm a reassuring squeeze.

"How is it going so far?"

Avery was surprised to hear him snort a laugh. "Surprisingly well, actually. He's stomping his feet and throwing a tantrum, which is working against him much more than he seems to realize."

That news made her relax slightly. Leliana, and Cassandra especially, seemed to have little patience for his bouts of immaturity.

"He was already bit sore because he's apparently caused quite a backlash with his, er, decision against me."

"You… and the lyrium?"

"That's right. Either he wasn't expecting that everyone would disapprove as much as they do, or he thought that if they did they'd keep it quiet. Apparently he was wrong on both counts."

This made Avery laugh too, a validating snort that she felt in the pit of her stomach. She hadn't even considered the anger that decision would have caused in anyone else. It reassured her further to know she wasn't alone in her outrage.

The walk through the Hall was completed quickly, with Avery nodding a brief greeting to Varric as they passed, but the last hallway to the War Room doors seemed to stretch on forever. As the door got closer Avery wasn't sure if what she was hearing in her ears was her hammering heartbeat or her own echoing footsteps. A flood of adrenaline inflated her body as Cullen pulled the door open for her, and she took a deep breath walking through it. It would not help her case at all if she couldn't stay calm, no matter how badly she wanted to encase Anon in a coffin of ice.

The air in the room was crackling with tension, and Avery was surprised to see Cassandra standing with her fists clenched and cheeks pink, as though she'd just finished delivering an impassioned speech. All the bodies in the room shifted as they each sounded off a greeting. Cullen nodded curtly and stayed close by Avery's side, his head twitching with impatience as he worried at a clasp on his armor. Avery immediately looked to Anon who was draped smugly over a chair, his chin held high in a show of insolence. The tension in the room had the ironic effect of putting Avery more at ease; clearly Anon wasn't going to just get his way as easily as he'd hoped. He looked over Avery for just a moment, his brows screwed up in a petulant frown, and then looked back to Cassandra.

"You weren't there, Cass. You didn't see the mess we had to clean up, the questions they asked… how do you think that looks?"

"I highly doubt  _you_  cleaned up anything," Cassandra answered. "And besides, I find what happened before the ball to be a bit more disturbing than what happened after everything was done. Leliana says you disappeared and would not have been found if not for Hawke. You were scandalously late and the whole court felt snubbed. How do you think  _that_  looks? And what if Hawke hadn't found you at all? What then?"

Anon's eyes flicked over to Avery. A vindictive part of her wanted to go into sordid detail about having to manually force him to vomit in order to bring him back into consciousness, but instead she bit her tongue and just leaned back to watch.

"Celene would be assassinated and the Inquisition would have completely lost all support from Orlais," answered Leliana. "Which might have been enough to effectively end us."

"Well, still," said Anon.

Leliana snorted and shook her head exasperatedly.

"Still what?" Cassandra sighed. "Even if I agreed with you, which I  _don't_ , and even if the matter of your order to Cullen wasn't as big a slap in the face as it is, she cannot go anywhere until after we deal with the Grey Wardens."

"Even  _then_ , she's not going anywhere," Cullen interjected sternly, casting a steely glare toward Anon. "She's my family now and she is staying."

"You think a sham marriage is going to protect her?" Anon barked. "It's obvious why you two did it. How long do you think a marriage like that would last anyway?"

Cullen laughed bitterly. "I don't give a nug's arsehole if you think it's a sham. Mother Giselle has already sent out the officiating decrees and that's all you need to know."

Cassandra turned toward Leliana. "This is clearly a personal vendetta brought about by jealousy. He made no secret of his plans to seduce the Champion before she arrived, only to find out that she preferred another man, who incidentally happened to be one that he already had a strained relationship with. If we let him become a tyrant on this matter because of a personal offense, when will it end? Next he'll try to get rid of me whenever I disagree with him. And then you. And pretty soon we'll  _all_ be cast out of the organization we founded and replaced by a bunch of sycophants."

Anon rose and moved threateningly toward Cassandra, his face flushed and eyes blacker than pits of tar. "And what of the fact that she tried to kill me?"

"What of the fact that you forced Cullen back into an addiction that could kill  _him_? What kind of a reaction were you expecting? If that were my husband you would have gotten a lot more than just a fist to the jaw, Mahanon," Cassandra said. "And over a nightmare!? Did you even once stop to think about how horrifying that had to have been for him? For both of them? Clearly not. Clearly you only think about yourself."

"That was not an actual attempt on your life anyway," Cullen sneered. "If she wanted you dead then you'd be nothing more than a pile of dust right now. But you aren't and you have no way to know what she would have done. Yes, she got angry, so did I. So is Cassandra right now. And Cassandra is absolutely right to question how far you'll go if you're allowed to just dispose of anyone you conflict with." Cullen's snarl turned again to a derisive laugh, "and so far, that list of people is pretty damned long."

"Cullen, you're a disgrace to the Templars if you're seriously going to defend an out of control mage. You saw her lose her handle on her magic! You had to silence her for Creators' sake," growled Anon. Cullen took an angry step forward, causing Anon to visibly flinch.

"You'd better be careful who you're calling a disgrace, Mahanon, or you're going to find yourself without an army," Cullen growled. "You cast her out and I'm going with her, and you know what that means for the Inquisition's forces."

"Gentlemen," a wide eyed Josie said as she stood, holding her palms up, "please, can we dial down the threats and try to solve this like adults?"

Cullen clamped his mouth shut and relaxed his stance, but kept his eyes trained sharply on Anon.

"Are you all seriously asking me to just let her continue to run around here doing anything she wants after the way she came at me?"

"Is that truly what you are concerned about, Anon?" Leliana asked, a note of incredulity sneaking into her tone.

"How am I supposed to know? We all know her reputation from Kirkwall. She's probably killed more people than all of us put together," said Anon. Avery couldn't help the laugh that escaped her throat, and even Cullen's face screwed into a look of amused bewilderment.

"If you were truly acquainted with her reputation you would know she helps far more people than she harms, and only then when she has no choice," remarked Cullen. "And you should remember, Inquisitor, that is the whole reason she is here in the first place. To  _help_  us. Corypheus somehow affected the Grey Wardens she dealt with in the Vimmarks and for all we know, whatever it is that Stroud is investigating could prove indispensable to bringing him down again. Like it or not we still need her, and that has nothing to do with my personal feelings. Don't bite off your nose to spite your face."

Leliana's leaned over to Josie and whispered something before turning to look at Avery. Anon continued to scowl and kick at the ground.

"Hawke, do have you have anything to say for yourself?"

For a moment Avery's mind was blank. It seemed the tide had officially turned in her favor, though despite all the angry words being thrown around, Anon could still make an executive order if he chose to. But she certainly had not expecting to receive such a vocal defense from the advisors. She cleared her throat and took a moment to tune into her own thoughts on the matter, realizing that she really didn't know how she would be able to share a home with Anon. A vision of the empty lyrium vial rolling out of Cullen's hand flashed before her eyes, making her hair stand on end. The memory of Anon's head in her lap while she comforted him and genuinely felt for him, while he was simultaneously plotting against her and Cullen, was nauseating. If it had to be done, could she force herself to remain civil to Anon on a daily basis even when every muscle in her body wanted to hit him in the face? She'd have to try of course. She'd have to do whatever it takes to stay with Cullen. She took a shaky breath and tried to force a swallow down her constricted throat, deciding to keep her own statement simple.

"What's done is done. Harming Anon isn't going to turn back time or reclaim Cullen's independence from lyrium. I only want to take out Corypheus so that Cullen and I can get on with our lives. So, no, the Inquisitor is in no danger from me," she said.

Anon watched her with one eyebrow raised. Despite the abject disapproval written all over his face, she saw his eyes roaming lasciviously over her and Cullen. It seemed unbelievable that he would still watch them in that way with everything he was saying, but there it was in his eyes, a spark of lusty darkness. Maybe he was even getting off on this fight. He certainly wouldn't be the first person to enjoy the possibility of a hate-fuck. Avery needed only to think back to Anders and Fenris to know that. For a moment she stared back openly, but then realized that could be seen as a challenge, and she broke her eyes away to look at anything else. She inspected her boots, the stone floor and tried her best to wipe the snarl off her face. The room was silent for a long moment while Josie and Leliana conferred quietly. Cullen hooked a finger around her pinky and gave a quick squeeze and she had to resist the urge to lean against him, wanting to fall into his arms and thank him for being there. She had no idea if he was bluffing in his threat to leave the Inquisition if she was cast out, though it seemed unlikely. Probably he simply knew that it was a bluff no one would dare try to call.

"Okay then. If she is to stay, then I want something in return," Anon said eventually, breaking the silence and interrupting Leliana and Josie. Cassandra's head turned toward him with a bone-chilling glare. Avery shivered, glad not to be on the receiving end of the Seeker's wrath.

"I want Hawke formally inducted into the Inquisition as an agent," he continued, not looking at Avery or Cullen, but looking pointedly at Leliana. The petite woman sat up straight and furrowed her brows, giving the suggestion what appeared to be serious consideration. After another heavy pause, her eyes flicked to Avery.

"Do you understand what he is requesting by that, Hawke?" she asked.

Avery looked up to Cullen, whose eyes were dark, but he only gave a little shrug and looked warily back to Leliana.

"Not exactly…"

"It means that you would officially be under the command of the Inquisitor. You would agree to obey his orders and would be subject to judgment and disciplinary measures if you do not. For serious crimes such as treason or endangering the lives of others, he may order any of a number of equally serious punishments including imprisonment, exile from southern Thedas or even execution, though surely it would never come to that. He may send you out into Thedas with other soldiers or agents if there is a mission or endeavor that could benefit from your skills and expertise and you would be obliged to commit yourself to that cause until the job is done. You would no longer be just a free-roaming guest here in Skyhold."

"And if I don't agree?" Avery asked.

"If you don't agree you will leave Skyhold immediately," said Anon.

"This is ridiculous," grumbled Cassandra.

"If she goes, I go," said Cullen.

"If you go… then you will doom us all," said Anon, looking unblinking at Cullen. "Including yourselves. How long do you think you'll have before the breach breaks open and you've got demons and shades and wraiths on your heels?"

Avery glanced up at Cullen and saw the dark shine of worry in his eyes, but his straight back and clenched jaw made it instantly clear that he was ready to follow through on his threat if pushed. The words he'd once spoken when they'd discussed the possibility of the Inquisition's failure due to his departure came back to her.  _I don't want to live with that on my conscience. Do you?_

She looked back to Anon, then over to Leliana and Josie. From the corner of her vision was Cassandra, all watching her quietly.

"Okay," Avery said finally as the blood in her veins turned to icewater. "Okay, fine. Make me an agent."


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only one more chapter before Western Approach/Adamant.

The swearing in ceremony that made Avery an agent passed as quickly as everything had the last few days. She walked out into the empty hallway feeling as though she'd just escaped the jaws of death, even as she began to to worry quietly over the new power that the Inquisitor held over her future there. She'd made the sacrifice she had to in order to ensure she could stay with Cullen, and prayed quietly as she walked alone through the doors separating Josie's office from the Hall that it not come back to bite her in the ass. So far everything else had, and in such nightmarish fashion, but she saw little other choice in the matter that wouldn't endanger more than just herself.

Varric sidled up beside her just as she reached the Great Hall's outer door, looking at her with quiet concern. As soon as she saw the little man she wanted to pull him into a fierce hug, but she held back, knowing how embarrassed he got by such spontaneous displays of affection.

"You look like you just got trampled by a druffalo," he remarked with his usual smirk.

"I did. A druffalo named Mahanon," she said, throwing up her hands in defeat. "Also, I'm one of you now."

"And what, pray tell, does that mean, Hawke?" he asked.

"I have officially been inducted into the Inquisition, and am now completely at the mercy of our dastardly mister elfy-pants."

"Huh," Varric huffed without fanfare. "Well… congratulations?"

Avery laughed numbly, a false echo that sounded like a laugh in her ears, but felt nothing at all like one. Cullen had squeezed her arm and offered a reassuring kiss before promising to see her soon, but his eyes had remained turbulent enough throughout the ceremony to make her begin to wonder just how big of a mistake she was making. It seemed to just be one more within a long line of mistakes. But whatever it was he was thinking, it hadn't been enough for him to say anything. Probably he didn't know himself just what she was going to be subjecting herself to. But it was done now, and there was no taking it back. Just like everything else.

"Or, you know, congratulations I guess for that other thing. You've certainly been busy lately, Mrs. Commander," he said. "Wait, shit, is your name even Hawke anymore? What do I call you? Mrs… uh… don't tell me, I know Curly's last name…" he said as he squinted his eyes and looked off into the distance.

"Mrs. Rand…all…man? Mrs. Rotto… mancer? No, wait, Ruckle…strap."

Avery shook her head, her laughter growing more heartfelt with every second.

"Um… Rooovermaker…. Right? That's got to be it," he concluded with a pleased grin.

"Ah, so that's the reason for the nicknames. You just can't remember anyone's  _real_  names."

"I'm hurt, Hawke. Or Mrs… whatever," Varric said.

"Do you even know my first name?"

"Of course I do," he said. He stood there and looked at her blankly, offering no follow up. She laughed again. Of course he knew, but it was just like him to play along.

"So," he sighed. "Where's Mr. Hawke?"

"Working out details for the Western Approach with the rest of them. We are to leave in a week," she sighed. She was not looking forward to that trip. Putting aside the awkwardness of traveling with Anon and the numerous weeks of being separated from Cullen, there was the fact of that whole region being a sandy, desert nightmare that existed in a permanent state of blight. Once again she remembered how much there was to do and felt her head begin to swim. A new staff, probably some new, desert-proof armor, the soles of her boots were in dire need of repair, a hair cut might be nice…

"And Mrs. Rubbinapple doesn't get to stick around the War Room for all the planny parts?"

"If I wanted to I probably could have. But I didn't. I have some letters to write… some liquor to drink… some walls to bash my head into. You're coming along on this trip, right? Please, Varric!?"

"I don't get to call those shots, kid. I can ask mister elfy-pants, but that guarantees nothing," Varric said apologetically.

She sighed, her shoulders drooping in a dramatic show of disappointment.

"Well, fine. But, like I said, I got some letters to write. What you up to later? Want to meet me in the tavern in about an hour for a pint? I could use one. Or a dozen."

"You got it," Varric said with a wink. "Mrs. Ropenschmitt."

Avery entered the quiet solitude of her old quarters and dropped heavily down into a chair at the table. It felt good to be alone in a space where she could breathe without eyes watching her, or without the constant foot traffic of the office below. Off to the side of the room sat a giant copper tub, the one Cullen had ordered for them, though they'd still not made use of it even though they'd meant to. The past 24 hours had been a whirlwind unlike any she'd ever known, and it was a tremendous relief that it was all over. At least she hoped it was over. There was still the awkward matter of how to exist within the same battlement walls alongside the Inquisitor. How to greet him without snarling, how to accept his orders without complaining or, conversely, allowing herself to be walked all over, how to stay in the same room with him without glaring, or letting her cold shoulder become too offensively icy. While her place in Skyhold had been secured, the entire grounds had now become a carpet of eggshells that she would have to walk upon more carefully than ever.

The silence of the room enveloped her like a soothing hug. Suddenly she felt very drained. Having people constantly wanting things from her, expecting certain behavior and criticizing when she revealed herself to be entirely human and just as susceptible to mistakes as anyone was deeply tiresome. And worst of all was how so much of that pressure seemed to come from herself. She was used to high expectations and had long ago raised her own expectations even higher, just to ensure that even when he missed the mark she might not let  _everyone_  down. A naive part of her had hoped that she'd moved past the period in her life where she constantly had to fight, constantly had to stay on her toes with every new set of people, every new endeavor. But clearly that had been a foolish idea to entertain in the first place. Life was fighting, in so many more ways than she'd ever realized.

Thankfully, just as in Kirkwall, Cullen remained her sanctuary. Somehow he wanted so little from her compared to everyone else. All he ever requested from her was that she be his. Anything else she gave him only because she wanted to. And Cullen deserved  _everything._

After a long, refreshing period of soaking up the peace and silence of the empty room, Avery finally moved toward the stationery that Cullen had thoughtfully allowed to remain in the room. Surely because there were no table or chairs in the loft, and his desk was often occupied. It just made more sense for it to stay here. She preferred to write in privacy anyway. After pulling free a sheet of parchment she opened up the inkwell, taking a moment to consider her words before beginning.

_Fenris,_

_I'm so sorry for the delay in my reply, my friend. So much has happened recently that I hardly know where to begin. I suppose I could start by apologizing, since as much as I would love to see you and meet Matthias, I will not be able to join you two in your travels to Cumberland. I wish you both a safe journey and hope you manage to steer clear of more rifts along the way. If, however, your choice of Cumberland is merely due to the presence of acquaintances, and you might be open to your own change of plans, I have an offer I would like to make. I realize the timing probably isn't the best, and you are free to refuse of course. But I imagine things in Kirkwall should have settled down a bit since we left all those years ago (though I have no information regarding its proximity to any other of the fade rifts you are fleeing), and while I have no intention to return there anytime in the foreseeable future, my Hightown estate remains intact, though surely in need of some work. If you two are interested in a more permanent home, I would happily write to Aveline to tell her that you are to be granted full rights to the property. The title would remain in my family's name, since, as you know, the estate has been in my family for generations, and still holds a full vault, my mother's possessions and fair amount of sentimental value. But I was also thinking that if you wanted to, I could write to the seneschal, or whoever is necessary, to allow you to take the Hawke surname. Then the estate would legally be yours as much as it is mine, and it would be a big relief to me to know that it is not just sitting in disrepair and collecting dust. You are already my family, so this seems like a logical step to me, though you would be bound to me in no other way. Please don't feel obliged to take me up on this if your heart is elsewhere. But the offer will remain open indefinitely if you ever feel like you might want to return to Kirkwall._

_On that note, there is a bit more news for me to share. In my last letter I believe I omitted the fact that the former Knight-Captain Cullen was here, serving as Commander of the Inquisition forces. As of sometime between last night and this morning, he also became my husband. We married here in the Skyhold gardens and I know that might worry you a little, but please know that I couldn't be happier. My permanent residence will now be here with my husband at the Inquisition headquarters in the Frostbacks, at least until the issue of the breach has been resolved. I have also been officially inducted into the Inquisition myself, and in one week's time we will be setting out for the Western Approach. If you happen to be anywhere between here and the Western Approach in the next several weeks, please send a letter along in care of the Inquisition, and you know I would move mountains to ensure that we could meet up, even if only briefly. I miss you so much my friend. I pray that the Maker keeps you safe and happy._

_All my love,_

_Avery Hawke-Rutherford_

She couldn't help but stop to admire the look of her new name. She'd thought about the name change a number of times, but seeing it written out on parchment made it so unbelievably real. Minutes streamed past as she just sat in place, looking at the name wistfully. But finally with a sigh she tore herself away and rolled up the parchment, binding it with a small ribbon so be sealed with wax later in Cullen's office.

Next came the letter to Aveline, advising about the name change, as well as the offer to Fenris. Letters from Aveline were always short and to the point, so Avery always made sure to return the favor. As Guard Captain, Aveline's time was precious, though she would always clear some space in her calendar whenever Avery needed something in person. Avery's chest grew tight as she thought about her old friend, one of the few people from her time in Kirkwall who actually still remained in that city. There was no question that Aveline would approve of her and Cullen, and she wondered if the news might come as much of a surprise to her in the first place, considering how much Cullen had apparently asked about her in the years following her escape from the city. She closed the letter with well wishes to her and Donnic, and sealed up the ink well.

She was descending the stairs from the tower at the same time that Varric was crossing the courtyard toward the tavern, and he stopped to wait for her with his usual smirk. Avery was glad to see that Anon was not inside, though Bull was sitting in his far corner talking to a petite redhead girl, and Cassandra was alone at a table, slumped over her pint at the other end of the room.

"I got the first round," Varric said as he made his way toward the bar, and Avery carefully approached the glowering seeker, testing the waters first before presuming to take a seat with her.

"I am not sure whether to congratulate you or apologize," Cassandra said without looking up. "On the one hand you will share our victory whenever the day comes, so long as Mahanon can rein in his… resentment of you, or whatever it is. On the other hand…" she sighed wearily, "I am truly sorry. If it were up to me, Mahanon would rarely return to Skyhold. Save for what happened at the Winter Palace he is usually much better out in the field. Out there, the chip on his shoulder becomes an eagerness to prove everyone who might judge him wrong, and because of that he has done many great things. But while back here in Skyhold it becomes… something closer to a power trip. A dumb kid on a power trip who also happens to actually wield power is a dangerous combination."

Cassandra nodded at the chair across from her, and Avery took it quietly.

"It is probably easier for him to deal with people in the field," she continued musing softly with a faraway look in her eye. "He knows that all he has to do is make the one good impression before he moves on to the next town, and that brief impression is what the people will hold on to forever. But he doesn't think he could maintain their goodwill if those people had to really spend time with him like we do. That must cause him to sabotage his personal relationships without even realizing it. It's probably easier to just get the disappointment over with than to wait for it to happen in its own time."

Avery listened quietly, soaking in the Seeker's insight.

"That… does make a lot of sense. Did you all know this about him before you voted him the leader of the Inquisition?"

Cassandra sighed again and took a long drink from her flagon.

"There were some issues that were discussed with him beforehand and he assured us that he would be better, that he was up for the challenge. And I think he truly believed that himself, which is why we were convinced. I suppose we should expect a bit of acting out after the loss of his clan, but I did not think he would go so far as to attack the very people who are helping him."

"Well… to be fair, I did want to attack him first. I would have if Cullen hadn't stopped me."

"Of course you  _wanted_  to after what he did to Cullen, but what Mahanon did was the first strike, not your reaction. Just because he is the Inquisitor does not mean that people will not react when they are hurt. Even the most loyal dog will try to bite its owner if the owner corners and beats him."

"But still, we were all warned… we knew…"

"I'm confused, Hawke. Are you  _defending_  him?"

"I… no. No. I just…" Avery sighed. "I can't help but try to see both sides. And I also still feel like so much of this is my fault. If I had just—"

"Nonsense," Cassandra said firmly, looking up at Avery with an unexpectedly piercing stare. "It is unfortunate that Cullen broke through a door. It is even more unfortunate that Mahanon did not listen to you when you warned him that Cullen needed space. The problem is not that you didn't do enough, the problem is that Mahanon lacks compassion. If he had just given it a little more time, he would have seen that as messy as that night might have been, there have been no repercussions. My understanding is that the Palace accepted Cullen's explanation, and it is nothing for the court to have to spend a few sovereigns to replace a door. Certainly they are gossiping about it, but they would find something to gossip about even if nothing at all had occurred. I am sure they are even  _enjoying_  having something to talk about. You must not blame yourself."

Avery sighed, her eye caught by the short, hairy chested dwarf with two flagons in his hand as he lingered near a post. Avery raised her eyebrow questioningly, and Varric began a cautious approach.

"Are you two done talking about all that, or do I need to make another lap around the tavern?" he asked. Cassandra rolled her eyes.

"No. It's fine… right?" Avery asked.

"Well, it doesn't do to dwell too much on what cannot be changed now," Cassandra said resignedly, before standing up with her flagon in hand. "Besides, I need a refill."

Varric slid in beside Avery, and she took a long drink of the ale before letting out a deep breath. She felt so much lighter with the knowledge that there were people still in her and Cullen's corner, even after all that had happened. The truth was that he definitely should have been frightened of her in those moments in Cullen's office. She had meant it when she told Cullen she would try not to kill Anon, but the anger she felt in that moment had been blinding. Though it was also true that he shouldn't expect to just go around hurting people and not expect people to react adversely.

Again she told herself that as Cass had just pointed out, it was over. Nothing could be changed now. There was only the future left to consider.

"So," began Varric, "did I ever tell you about the time Blondie was convinced he heard a distressed cat yowling from inside a ship harbored at the docks, and he asked me to sweet-talk the captain to let him do a cargo search?"

Avery laughed so unexpectedly she felt the uncomfortable sting of ale pushing up into her sinuses as she strained not to spray over the table.

"No!" she coughed, after forcing down a swallow. That sounded just like Anders. He probably would have sneaked the thing off the ship under his robe if he'd had an opportunity. "Please, do tell."

Xx

Varric continued with his stories long after Cassandra returned, eventually earning a little grudging laughter from the seeker, even as she continued to roll her eyes and grumble. But she didn't get up to leave, and between the three of them the pints were emptied quickly. Varric had sent out for a platter of food when a body leaned in close behind Avery and a pair of warm hands landed on her shoulders. She leaned her head back and caught the liquid amber of Cullen's eyes gleaming down at her. She laughed giddily, hoping that he planned to stay and join them. She hadn't realized until that moment just how closely she was verging on drunkeness.

"There you are," he said warmly. She peaked out the window to see the golden light of late afternoon, surprised at how much time had passed.

"Here I am. Mrs. Commander," she giggled.

He snorted as he grabbed the empty chair beside Cassandra and pulled it around the table so that he could sit on Avery's free side. She leaned in for a kiss and tasted a recent draught of lyrium, but tried not to think about it too much. Reminders of all that had occurred were exactly what she was hoping to avoid, at least for a little while.

"What are you having?" Varric asked as he rose to go retrieve the food.

"Um… whiskey, I suppose. The stuff she likes," he nodded toward Avery. "I've developed a bit of a taste for it myself."

Cassandra snickered quietly as Avery leaned in to Cullen, taking his hand in hers and scooting her chair closer. She knew she was smiling beatifically at her new husband, suddenly seeing almost nothing beyond his creamy skin and the enticing angles of his features, and she didn't really care. She was trying to focus on the positive for the rest of the evening, on the future, not the mess they'd just extricated themselves from. The ale had already been aiding that endeavor tremendously, and there was nothing in Thedas more positive than the beautiful, loving gaze of the man beside her, whom she was now bound to in the eyes of the Maker and everyone else.

"Finished up early did you?" Avery asked.

"I did. I thought it might be nice to have dinner at a normal hour for a change," he answered, the changing browns of his eyes combining with the ale to make her head swim.

"Well you have perfect timing," she answered as he was slowly drew closer, his mouth angling for another kiss, landing tenderly and lingering as though they were the only two in the room.

Cassandra cleared her throat loudly. Avery shrugged apologetically to her once their second kiss was finished, earning her a flash of a sheepish grin.

It took three glasses of whiskey and the falling of night before Cullen's eyes grew glassy, his shoulders loosened and his laughter came easier. The hours, however many of them it had been, had passed in a flash, with Varric raucously telling story after story, with Cullen and Avery sitting back and enjoying the witty snipes and jabs that passed between the dwarf and the Seeker. Their banter seemed to contain equal parts rivalry and amusement, as though they'd slowly grown to like each other a little but still refused to give the other the satisfaction of showing it. Adding to the enjoyment of the evening was the fact that the longer Avery sat across from Cassandra, the more she grew to like the woman. She remembered Varric mentioning once that Cassandra had been a great admirer of the infamous Champion of Kirkwall, which Avery had assumed was a part of why she had warmed up to her so quickly, but after seeing the ferocity with which she fought during her practice sessions in the courtyard, as well as how boldly she defended Cullen and Avery to Mahanon, Avery began to feel more and more like  _she_  was the one in awe. At times, the Seeker even reminded her a little of Aveline. Avery couldn't deny that she'd always seemed to feel a special affinity for no-nonsense warrior types. Fenris, Aveline and Cullen had all fallen into that category after all, and Cassandra was certainly no exception.

As their intoxication grew, Cullen's hands wandered more and more, at first sneaking over her thigh, and then draping around her shoulders and rubbing over her arms, and then tickling into the little hairs at the back of her neck and roving under the collar of her leathers to caress between her shoulder blades. The unmasked affection and happy glint in his eye made her heart soar, adding to the heady mix of intoxication to give the evening an almost otherworldly glow. He too had clearly been able to set aside the last 24 hours, and was allowing himself to just enjoy a free, relaxed evening among friends, and it was even more exciting for the fact that it was exactly the sort of thing they'd never been free to have with their friends back in Kirkwall.

Avery was only half surprised when, after a quick visit to the tavern's washroom, Cullen accosted her upon exiting to return to the table, and instead pulled her quickly out the back door of the tavern and to a little, hidden alcove of a backyard. Nestled between the rear of the tavern and the battlement wall, one could easily slip out from behind the building and emerge into Skyhold's upper courtyard, but no one out there could see within without practically being inside. In the very back corner was a stack of wooden crates and a pile of empty wine bottles sat beside the door, and the revelry of the patrons within rang loud throughout the small space.

But there was little time to inspect the yard too closely. Avery quickly found herself sandwiched between the outer wall of the tavern and the towering warmth of Cullen's body as his mouth descended upon hers in a fury, tasting of whiskey and hot metal, devouring and consuming with an unexpected urgency. In a blur of hands and hips and tongues, his chest plate was landing in the grass at their feet with a thump and she was trying to control the whimpers slipping from her throat as the hardness between his legs bucked against her, sending ripples of need crashing down her legs.

"You're so fucking perfect," he panted between deep, sloppy kisses. Whether his lust was fueled by the whiskey, the rare and easy camaraderie of the evening, or the frightening brush with separation, she could not tell. It was perhaps a little bit of everything.

"I need to have you," he groaned, "I need to be inside you right now."

Beside his chest plate landed his pauldron, leaving only the light linen tunic that draped teasingly over his muscled chest. She was nodding, lost completely inside the storm of his desperation, ignoring the little spark of awareness that anyone could come through the door at any moment, that it was likely anyone standing close to the other side could hear them as clear as day, but the aching between her legs was growing louder and louder, smothering out any impulse to care about their indiscretion. He fumbled with the flaps on his breeches with one hand while the other dragged up her thigh, pushing aside the skirt of her leathers and pulling on her smalls. It took a moment for her brain to catch up with the action as her body remained plastered against the wall in an amorous stupor, her hands busy scraping up his chest and running along the heat of his velvety back. When the solid bulge pulled away from her sex, her body seemed to scream in protest, her hips insisting on bucking forward and reconnecting with him, but finally she regained enough clarity to help him with their clothing, pushing aside his pants only so far as it was necessary to free his cock, while her smalls were pulled free in his usual impatient fervor.

With one more swift move his cockhead was pressed against her sopping entrance, and then buried to the hilt, the high trill of her voice echoing off the walls around them as she cried out from the instant jolt of intensity. He growled into her ear and he stilled for a moment, his hips digging hard into hers as he marinated in her juices and let her constricting walls adjust to his thickness.

"Fuck," he gasped. "Nothing I've known has  _ever_  felt better than this. Than  _you._ "

She breathed heavily, one hand tangled in his hair, the other digging down into the back of his breeches and holding his hips firmly against hers.

"So fucking tight and hot," he breathed. It occurred to Avery that the whiskey was probably helping him feel a little bold, a little looser than usual. His throaty words traveled directly to her aching sex, and she wanted more.

"Yeah?" she asked in return, pushing his head back to look into his face. His eyes were dark, heavy lidded, his pink lips parted and glistening. She needed to hear him speak more, wanted to hear that smoky voice tell her exactly what it was that he wanted. "You like fucking me?"

"I fucking love it," he answered, sounding on the verge of delirium. She urged his hips to move and slowly he began to buck in long, powerful thrusts that connected with the very core of her.

"I love your thick, perfect cock," she said, keeping her voice low. "I love it pounding inside me, filling me up. You make me come so fucking hard."

"Yessss," he hissed as he gained slightly more speed and power, his eyes trained on her face as his hands grasped hard at her buttocks, squeezing and kneading at her fleshy curves.

"Will you come hard for me now, baby?" he asked before grabbing her by the thighs and hoisting her up against the wall, holding her in place. She spread her legs open wide and sank her hips down toward him, beckoning him deeper, obeying the urging of her body.

"Yes," she answered finally, the words caught in her throat as the next plunge of his cock hammered deeper than ever, the intensity driving her to gulp for air. Each measured slam deliberate and exquisite, reverberatingly with building sweetness.

"Fuck, you feel so fucking good," she said as she dug her fingers hard into his back, her body singing with sensation like a wire pulled tight and strummed. "Harder, Cullen. More. I want all of you."

He growled again as his mouth plunged into her neck, his teeth making contact with the sensitive skin and clamping down as he fucked faster and harder, his hips banging against her and jolting her body with each slap of contact.

"I wish I could see your breasts right now, so full and perfect, bouncing hard as you get fucked," his lusty voice whispered into her ear.

"Yes," she sighed, struggling to keep her volume low.

"I want you to sit on my face while I suck on your cunt," he panted. "I love the way you taste, baby. I want to fuck you with my tongue until you scream."

The wanton desire in his voice, this normally relatively reserved man speaking words she'd never heard from him before, traveled just as deep as his cock, stoking the fire inside like a gust of hot, incendiary air. With each jagged breath against her neck, each hammer of his hips against her ass, the peak rapidly drew nearer. As quick and intense as a bolt of lightning. She tried to hold her hips steady, bracing against the wall for maximum impact from each blow from his cock, rapturously soaking up each resounding thrust.

"Yes," she whispered again, trying to keep her voice steady against the growing ferocity of his thrusting. "I want you to fuck my mouth. Fill my mouth, my cunt, my ass with your seed… I want every fucking drop of you inside me."

His mouth left her neck, dragging a hot tongue up to her earlobe, sucking the sensitive flesh of her ear into his mouth, sending shivers down her back, to collide with the waves of ecstasy traveling up from between her legs.

"Oh, Maker…  _fuck_ …" he panted. "Fucking fuck. I don't have much longer. Come for me baby. Please…"

"Yes, I'm close," she gasped as she felt the beginnings of the current of sensation begin to crest. She clamped down onto his cock and let her head fall back against the wall of the tavern, eyes falling closed as a screen of white rose before her eyes, blanking out the stone and the grass and the sky, absorbing all her senses as her body took control of every ounce of thought.

"Beg me again," she asked, yearning to hear that delicious note of desperation.

"Please, baby. Please come… I'm gonna go any second. Please…"

"Yes," she said. "Yes… I'm coming."

He groaned a low, deep whimper as he fell against her, resting his chest against hers while his hips continued to hammer away, forehead pressing to forehead as his cock somehow managed to drive even harder and deeper still, eviscerating her from the inside out. The orgasm loomed close, preparing to overtake her with what promised to be a frightening force.

"Come with me," she urged, her request a lost rasp that drowned within the sounds of sex. Her body became liquid, a flood of something formless and incorporeal, the boundaries of her flesh disappearing and melding with his, cell on cell mixing with blood, saliva and nectar. Somewhere there was a mouth on her, lips and a tongue and teeth but it all became a shapeless jumble, her body rendered down into a single note of pleasure, like the sharp, clear, ringing of a bell.

"Yesss…. Fuck," he grunted one last time. His thrusts turned spastic, driving deep into her, pounding her hard against the wall while his fingers bruised painfully into her thighs. Between her legs she felt a wash of warm wetness while her sex convulsed around him, constricting and throbbing in sync with his slowly emptying cock. The sound, the feel of his body tensing and coiling with his own orgasm was blindingly satisfying and she held on tight, anchoring him in place while his body finished unleashing itself.

"Maker's breath," he breathed as he slowly lowered her back to a stand, her knees still quaking with the force of the storm they'd just weathered. "That was…" He breathed for a while, taking a moment to wipe beads of sweat from his brow before mashing his mouth against hers, suckling languorously on her lips for a long minute before pulling away to take more heaving breaths.

"Good, I hope?" she laughed shakily.

He snorted as he relaced his breeches, looking around at their feet at his discarded armor.

"You could say that," he said with a laugh. "I'm sure anyone who heard us would agree."

Avery shrugged as she scanned the grass for her smalls. She knew they were gone, and she knew Cullen had removed them, but whether they were still intact or even nearby was unknown. "For all I know a whole parade of people could have come through here in the last few minutes. I wouldn't have noticed."

She tiptoed over to the crates and peeked behind them, searching the shadows for the scrap of black fabric. Perhaps they'd been flung somewhere. Or perhaps he'd stuffed them in his pocket, like he'd done once before.

"Do you still have my smalls?"

Cullen patted his pockets and did a halfhearted look down at his feet.

"Nope," he said as he slipped his pauldron back on, the feathered accoutrement magnifying his profile and lending an attractively beastly effect. "You don't need them anyway."

She laughed some more. She should have figured. He'd been waging a war on her smalls since the very beginning.

"Is that right?" She leaned back against the wall of the tavern to watch him slip his chest plate back into place.

"It is," he confirmed with a smirk. Once the silver piece was secured into place he stalked toward her, stopping only when his lips were mere inches from her own.

"I do love these little skirts of yours. Maybe you can wear another one tomorrow…" he teased, the slightly drunk glimmer still shining in his eyes. One warm, calloused hand scored up the back of her thigh, kneading again into the flesh of her bare buttock. "That is, if you're not completely exhausted from how thoroughly I intend to ravage you once we're done here."

Avery laughed as she reached up to tuck a few blond curls back into place.

"Well, I guess we'll have to see won't we?"

"I guess so. I need some way to work off all this extra energy from the lyrium. And we're due a proper wedding night anyway," he said as his hands came up to circle her waist, squeezing tenderly.

"That we are. And we only have a week before…"

He sighed, his smirk falling away slightly.

"Right. I need to soak up as much of you as possible before you're off again."

She groaned, letting her head fall forward to rest on his shoulder. The thought of leaving him again fired up an agonizing ache, like a coating of acid inside her chest. It was bad enough she'd be traveling with Anon, and that she wouldn't even know how long she'd be gone. It was sure to be weeks, probably a month at the very least. And longer than that if necessary. But to be away from him so soon after all they'd just endured was the last thing she wanted. At least she wouldn't have to worry about him suffering withdrawals without her there, a thought that comforted her even as it made her sad.

"Can't you come with us?"

He shook his head, but she knew even as she asked that it wouldn't be possible. He had too many responsibilities in Skyhold.

"So, then. We have a week to honeymoon," she sighed as she pulled his body against her, nuzzling in the warm musk of his neck. His arms swallowed her up, holding her tightly. "After we make another appearance inside, maybe have another pint, and let Skyhold clear out a bit… I know exactly where I would like our honeymoon to start."

"Oh. Where is that?" he asked as he kissed into her hair.

"The war room."

He was still for a moment and then pulled away to look down at her with a smile.

"Naughty girl."

"That's right, Commander. Since the first time I was in there I haven't been able to stop thinking about laying you out over that table and defiling you in every imaginable way."

He snorted, lifting her chin up to bring his lips close again.

"I can't wait," he whispered as his lips brushed against hers. "You are a remarkable woman, Avery. And not just because you're incandescently beautiful and you fuck like a goddess."

Avery laughed as her cheeks grew warm, certainly growing red with a slow, radiating burn. She couldn't help but try to break from his eyes as she smiled bashfully.

"There are no words for how much I love you too," he whispered before soundly claiming her lips.


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, I've been in a bit of a funk lately. Also trying to prepare for Nanowrimo. 
> 
> So this is pure smut. Had to get a good one in because it's going to be mostly story from here on out (except for some flashbacks, letters, etc). Cullen is on the other end of the butt stuff this time, so fair warning if you're not into that. If you skip this chapter you won't miss anything important story-wise.

Avery walked lazily around the War Table, her eyes wandering over the skin of Cullen's bare body like a beast trying to decide which part of her kill to dig into first. It had taken two more hours for Skyhold to clear out, which meant two more hours of drinking in the tavern while they waited, but they both had been careful not to overdo it, each keeping their eye on the eventual prize. And now they were here, and with pink cheeks and a contagious smile, Cullen had asked if maybe Avery might be the one to take control this time, that  _she_  be the one to issue the commands. She could only guess that he might find it a relief not to always be The Commander. After so many years as the leader of a pack, she understood the desire to be relinquished of all responsibility, even if only for a couple hours in the privacy of a bedroom. Or, as it were, a war room.

And somehow, conversely, she'd realized long ago that she could indulge in absolute control with the same sense of relief. There hadn't been many instances of someone — Anders, of course — submitting completely to her, but during those few times it had been like a switch flipped in her mind. She inhabited the dominant role like a second skin, a slightly evolved version of the Avery who plunged head first into battle time and time again on the Kirkwall streets, only it was the form of a person she loved before her instead of someone deserving of her wrath. The first time it happened it had been a little disorienting, felt a little wrong. But Anders encouraged her to embrace it, to experience what it was like to live fully within that dominant piece of herself and to funnel her killer instincts into sexual ones, even if only for a few hours.  _You don't have to hurt me,_  he'd said.  _Just be the one with all the power._ She felt it now, and though it had been a while, it was like putting on old, worn down pair of breeches. The hectic world was reduced to something blissfully simple when it was just her and a lover alone in a room, and if Cullen  _wanted_  to be under her control, then of course she would indulge him.

But she didn't want to push Cullen too far. Cautious of his past experiences, she eschewed the ties and bindings, accepting his promise not to move his hands from their location above his head, or to open his eyes rather than don a blind fold. Avery was surprised to find the effect even more exhilarating than if he actually was tied up; in this case he could move if he truly chose to, but if he managed to endure the sex that was to follow without breaking his promise to stay put, that seemed a stronger form of control than the forced restraint of some rope and a scarf. She couldn't help but smile a little at the tremendous gift he was offering her, a gift of his complete and unconditional trust, his eager willingness to follow her to places he'd never before been, not that she really intended to take him anywhere terribly dark.

All she really wanted was the same as what she always wanted: to immerse herself in every beautiful inch of him. To touch those places not normally considered during sex and somehow make it seem just as erotic, to treat the entirety of his body like the sexual organ that it was to her. But even if that failed, there was still the more conventional measures to fall back on, as already the most conventional sex with Cullen continued to be impossibly exciting, enhanced by the aphrodisiac of their intense, needful love.

Even just tiptoeing around his body, taking in the expanse of flesh and flaws and skin, was both heartening and instantly arousing. There was something achingly precious about all the little parts of him that never received much in the way of notice: the delicate bones that made up his slender ankles, the childhood scars that trailed up the hard line of his shins to his sharply-capped knees, old injuries not received in battle, but from innocent sessions of exuberant play back when his body was smaller and clumsier. And his hands, usually the givers of such loving tenderness, sat still and curled like gilded wonders, as deserving of their own appreciation as his cock or his lips or any of the countless other parts of him that took her breath away.

It was there that she decided to begin, stopping at the head of the table to lean over and take a finger between her lips, peppering each section of the digit with a kiss before pulling the entire thing into her mouth. She was careful to be silent, to touch as little else as possible before the moment of contact so that the gesture might surprise. His breath hitched in his throat as she sucked on his thumb in the same loving manner that she always had his cock, laying her tongue flat and wide along its length and slowly pulling away, moistening the dry digit before nipping at the pad of flesh just on the inside of his palm. She let her cheek rest for a moment on his hand, closing her eyes and savoring the sensation of the fingers curling up to meet the shape of her face, caressing softly along the line of her jaw. As promised, the placement of the hand itself did not move, but she did, leaning her whole body inward to kiss the soft inner flesh of his wrist, and then bite gently up his corded forearms. His lips were parted and his breathing slow and even, soaking in the blind sensations of her roving mouth. His body was a feast for the eyes, a gloriously erotic picture that sent a warm current of blood directly to her cunt until she throbbed and ached. Avery wrestled with the conflicting desires to take her time, and to try to take all of him at once.

Leaving the salty smoothness of the one arm, Avery crossed over to the other side and repeated the motions, keeping her movements slow and deliberate. Further down his body came the first signals of the reward she sought: the titillating twitch of his awakening cock. She knew from her own experience that kissing down one's arms wasn't necessarily the most sexual of activities on a normal day, but when one is deprived of sight and left at the complete mercy of their lover, contact of any kind can be heightened to a unmistakably sexual intensity.

Next she let her lips linger over his mouth, recalling all their earliest kisses the same as she had so many times already. There was something so intoxicating about being on the verge of a kiss but not fully within it yet, those agonizingly sweet seconds where lips parted expectantly and eyes blurred, the sharp pull of anxious inhalations, the breathless anticipation of finally receiving permission to taste the object of one's love. Cullen's lips continued to part further, his head tilting to receive her in the way they'd both become so practiced, but she only hovered over him, suckling the gentlest of kisses along his lips, letting their open mouths catch the other's bated breath. When his tongue flicked out and connected with hers, she gave in, letting lips and tongues slide into place in a dance that always somehow seemed both familiar and brand new.

Pulling away only enough to lean further in, she kissed his chin and let her mouth carve a trail down his neck, stopping for a moment to kiss his adam's apple, then the base of his neck, until she reached his chest, and found her own unbound breasts brushing against the stubble of his face. He turned to catch a breast in his mouth, suckling hard at her nipple until a bolt of sensation streamed through the delicate network of nerves. She felt a shiver crawl down her back, and stopped a moment to let it complete its course before quickly pulling away.

With her eyes and fingertips she learned him, tracing along all his hidden lines, finding every unnoticed freckle, every divot and depression, every notch where bone met bone, or where muscle curved to hug its frame. He'd never shied away from being seen in the nude, but never before had he been laid out before her in this way, granting her the time and the space to lavish love upon every tiny, secret inch. His frame did not belong to an overly large man; indeed if his skeleton did not carry so much meaty strength one might consider him slight. His elbows and knees were narrow, his hips tapered down dramatically from the bulk of his broadly built up chest. It was the muscle the bones carried that made him seem larger than life, magnified and illuminated by an aura of competence and experience, a man who had seen more than anyone could ever truly know, even she who'd been given the deepest possible access. The mounds of his arms and chest were scarred and his hands rough with callouses, but the insides of his wrists were pale and soft, the skin of his ankles paper thin, the rhythm of his heart tapping gently against the hollow of his throat. She'd already had the thought recently that it was a little terrifying how devastatingly mortal he was. Just soft skin stretched over a hard working life support system, in no way immune to the same swift death that would eventually claim everyone. If only his body could reflect the resilience of his spirit and the strength of his character, and never come to harm no matter how many blows an enemy might level against him. If only he could live forever and never be hurt again.

She brought a glass of water over from the basin in the rear corner of the room and dripped a web of water lines over his chest, urging the liquid to follow the channels that his muscles carved, criss-crossing down his torso and peeking into the nest of golden curls upon which his half-erection slumbered. With the unseen arch of a brow and curl of her lip, the magic came quickly and obeyed her whim, turning the shiny wet lines to a solid crust of ice, and for a moment Cullen stiffened, surprised by the sudden bite of cold. A breath was drawn so sharply between his teeth it sounded like a snake slithering through grass. But the ice melted in only a second, blasted back into liquid form by the constant inferno housed under his skin.

Another drop onto the head of his cock, turned to a frosty crystalline bead and then warmed again just as quickly from an opposing spark. The slow cascade of drips spread in hot tendrils down his shaft, creeping into the nest of curls and pooling into the tightened skin of his bollocks. More hot skeins of water, each individual drop leaving a trail that followed the contours of his skin down a unique path, tickling across him with unexpected new temperatures. It was the heat that brought his erection into its full splendor, the skin around his cock growing tight and shiny as it expanded, the cockhead darkening as blood strained against its confines, filling out a shape that promised to fit perfectly against her palate. She licked her lips but quietly urged herself to maintain restraint. They'd had so much time to taste and to kiss and to love and to fuck, though even that would never be enough. But despite the way her mouth was watering for him, recalling the smooth, clean taste of his most sensitive places, she wanted tonight to be about something new.

First it had been the ice, and then it was heat, but it was always the electric that satisfied most in a mage's sex games, the hot bolts of energy mirroring the internal workings of sexual pleasure, firing off in rapid waves of intensity that spread across the body in precisely the way that lightning streamed in jagged arcs across the sky. The hairline legs of sparking purple crawled up the veins of water, climbing his cock, up over his hips and then his chest, outlining his features in soft flickers of electric light. The hisses issuing from his throat grew deeper and louder, and his cock stood prouder than ever at the tingles she knew were spreading out over him, coaxing his hairs to stand and his nerves to pleasantly prickle.

She knew what he was feeling first hand, having been the recipient for so many years. One of the saddest parts of losing Anders had been the loss of his privately wielded magic. He'd confessed to using it on himself since the first time he knew he had it, and decades of electric sex play had resulted in an utter mastery of the magical orgasm. He could make anyone orgasm almost instantaneously, and indeed there'd been several times in public that one well placed jolt had made her come on the spot. The first time she'd tried to play it off as an extended sneeze. Everyone else looked confused, while Anders only laughed, the wicked glint of that humor she loved so much sparking in his eyes.

"Allergies, I think" she'd shrugged sheepishly to onlookers.

He could also draw an orgasm out into an endless song, a symphony with crescendos and inflections controlled by the movements of his hands in the same way a conductor guided an orchestra through a concerto. The first time he'd done it, she was convinced she'd seen the Maker himself. The cost had been lying back separate from him, and forfeiting kisses and other forms of touch, leaving his hands and focus free to weave her pleasure. It was the magic he commanded behind closed doors that got them through numerous other rough patches, weeks of arguing and disagreements, of Anders convincing himself of some preposterous idea or another that bewildered Avery with its outlandishness. They'd relied on sex to stay connected, and as with healing she became his enthusiastic student. His primary lesson had been simple. Masturbation. It had been the key for him, or so he claimed. "What better way to know how different things feel than to experiment on yourself and experience it first hand?"

She'd only ever attempted that a dozen times or so, but it never felt the same. And the few times it had worked, it had been difficult to keep her magic under control once the orgasm began. She'd burned herself twice with only a slight loss of control, and promptly lost her taste to try again for a very long time. She laughed quietly as she stood over Cullen, admiring the perfect symmetry of his warrior's physique, feeling the deep craving to fill his beautiful body with the greatest, most intense pleasure that it was possible for a human to feel. She supposed it was inevitable now that she was so irrevocably in love that she was considering taking up the study again, honing her skills for Cullen's benefit. But he already seemed quite pleased with the little she'd done so far. And even if she had the time to masturbate as furiously as a teenaged boy, her body was already completely satisfied by Cullen, never needing anything more. Still, the thought of doing for him all the things that Anders had done for her was irresistible.

Avery tried to snap herself out of it. She was losing herself in what, in that moment, could only be fantastical possibility, when right before her in the flesh was the very man she was thinking about servicing. But there were other things she could do, things Anders showed her that required no extra special talent or practice. Finally laying her hands on the insides of Cullen's thighs, she dragged them up the taut flesh, caressing over the beautiful swells of his muscled legs and toward the treasure at the apex, the enticing symbol of sheer masculinity that throbbed in time with his heartbeat. He continued to lay still and quiet, his breath coming evenly if perhaps a little fast, the skin around his neck and cheeks flushed pink with the blood that was surely storming through his body.

With fingers curling under his velvety thighs she drew his legs up, pushing them apart and toward his belly. He obeyed and let himself be flayed open, his breaths now growing sharper and more rapid, and somewhere under her touch she registered a quickening pulse. She couldn't help but smile at the effect every little thing seemed to be having. It felt like she truly hadn't done much just yet, a few kisses, a little touching, a variety of magic, but his eyes were still closed and his cock was ready. He was quiet, patient and accepting, allowing her free rein and moving obediently under her guiding touch.

Her mouth first fell at that creamy stretch of skin between his bollocks and the little bud of his rear. She tongued against the tight flesh, feeling a cone of firmness under the skin, the internal root of his sizable cock. She scored her teeth up to his bollocks and took each one into her mouth, suckling it lovingly while inhaling the mesmerizing musk of his golden curls. Her exhale became a vocalization, a deep release of wordless satisfaction as desire built in her senses and traveled like a warm, slow flood down her chest and into her solar plexus, filling her so full of need she could hardly stand still. It reverberated against the aching center between her legs, reminding her that she too would need some attention eventually.

After several long moments of tonguing his bollocks and perineum she pulled away, climbing down from the table and walking swiftly around to his head again. She kissed him hard, taking his mouth as though she owned it, communicating that fact back to Cullen in no uncertain terms. She plunged deeply in with her tongue until he had to open up wide to accommodate her. He had claimed her once with a kiss, but she would claim him in return, again and again and again, until the power of her love for him eradicated the awareness of anything else.

"Are you ready to come my darling?" Avery asked after she pulled away, leaving his lips reddened and panting for air. He nodded breathlessly.

"I'm going to explore a place you might never have had touched before. If you don't like it, just say stop, and I will. Any time you're ready to stop, I will. But if you give me a little time to warm you up, it's going to feel so good you'll come without my even touching your cock. Without  _you_  touching your cock. Have you ever experienced that before?"

It took a second before Cullen shook his head, confirming what she already knew.

His eyes were still pressed closed, arms slung helplessly over his head. Heat and deliciousness radiated off his chest, and she couldn't help but lean in and smell him, drawing deep breaths against his blazing skin while her mouth and other places begin to water even further. Maker's breath, it seemed impossible that any other man could ever be this perfect. Anders certainly had never made her  _this_  hungry,  _this_  ravenous. Nor Fenris. They'd both had their appeals for sure, and she'd felt a raging lust for them unmatched by anything she'd known before them. But it had been matched now. Matched and obliterated.

"You might even come twice, or three times," she teased. "And after that, once you've had a little break, you'll come again. But inside me."

She trailed her fingers down his chest as she walked away. He might not believe he was capable of such a thing, but her magic would make it possible. It was the little she could do, and yet compared to a non-mage, it could be so much more than enough.

With her hands gripping his thighs again, she urged him to scoot down, until his ass was pulled to rest upon the edge of the table. They'd had to move a few of the iron figures out of the way, and she guided his feet up to where they could sit comfortably upon the tabletop, while at the same time pressing his thighs open to give her full access to the bounty between them. His brows were furrowed, but he obeyed, and she felt the slow jerky release of his thigh muscles as they relaxed into their new position.

She took a moment to appreciate the sight, seeing the flesh and blood image of a man open for the plundering, superimposed over her memory of Anders and Fenris, both poising themselves eagerly for the other. Cullen was as much a man as the two of them put together, and for the briefest, most fleeting of moments, she wished she could manifest a cock for herself, so she could feel him from the inside in the way he way felt her. But the thought dissipated quickly as Avery descended between his legs, her own thoughts blotted out by the deliciousness of his flesh.

Almost immediately her mouth was on him, suckling at the cleavage of his asscheeks before pressing forward to kiss deeply onto the soft opening of his ass. She'd touched him there before, but with her finger only, and she had never penetrated, never needed to. Contact with only the surface so far had been enough to push him over the edge, in those rare, rushed moments where such a push was needed. They'd never discussed his thoughts on his receiving anal stimulation, but based upon the almost instant reaction of his body, and hist complete lack of complaint, he certainly seemed to be opening himself to the possibilities. With her tongue she probed at the softness between his cheeks, dragging up and down the burning cleft, swirling and lapping, losing her place as his body arched and tensed. A low mewl drenched in the sultry notes of sex was rumbling from his throat and it only spurred her on, encouraging her to go deeper, harder. She'd watched Anders and Fenris do this to each other and had studied what it was that they had liked. That attention came in handy now as she tried to replicate what she could, using the pitch of his body's reaction to tune her movements. In fact she'd fervently watched those two do all manner of things to each other, in the hopes that she might glean some special knowledge that could only come from a man working on a body with all the same parts as his own. She knew well enough that there were places that benefited from a special kind of touch, a touch that only someone with those same parts could truly understand. That was evident in the fact that some men still referred to the "mysteries of a woman's body." To another woman there was very little in the way of mystery. And so it probably was with men, too.

Cullen's vocalizations grew as his body tensed and constricted around her, his cock beginning to seep long, clear streams of fluid that stuck to the hairs below his navel. But whatever pleasures a mouth could bring to that part of him, there was only so deep her tongue could go. With more kisses and nips against the voluptuous swells of his ass cheeks, she let her mouth slowly be replaced by her fingers, soaking in the lubrication she deliberately left behind, massaging and circling his entrance as his body continued to writhe. Keeping her fingers working diligently, she shifted into a new position, straightening out her back and her neck, resting against the table at an acute angle, his twitching cock mere inches from her mouth. She could take him that way and end this quickly, but her mind was filled with memories of what magic could do, of numerous nights of watching Anders and Fenris alike as they fucked the open air above them, coming with the force of a raging river without a single finger laid upon their cocks. She would see Cullen do the same, see him twist and curl and come undone, his body imploding with the massiveness of the sensation, his face gorgeously contorted into a picture of pure, unadulterated ecstasy.

Already he was bucking against her hand, her fingers slipping and sliding within the layer of moisture her mouth had left behind. His back arched, his throaty groans morphed into needful whimpers, and she decided to move it all along by gingerly dipping the tip of her finger inside him.

It seemed almost deliciously obscene. To be inside a man, in a place not necessarily meant to know pleasure, but which somehow, unquestionably  _did_. There was no mistaking his reaction; it certainly was not one of pain. Surely they could have lived a life without traversing this particular road and never felt worse for it. But exploring new ground would make this night particularly memorable, and if nothing else that was what an encounter in this most intimidating of rooms deserved. With her fingertip inside him she continued to pull slow circles, urging his body to loosen around her, to make room for a deeper exploration. When she worked the entirety of the first segment of her finger inside, his breath grew especially sharp, sounding off tiny mewls of pleasure as his body gyrated against her arm.

"You okay?" she asked, and heard a raspy yes follow quickly in reply.

Over time she slowly worked even deeper still, the depths of him holding onto her finger with a tight, welcoming heat. Surely this is what his cock felt when he was inside her, plundering the sensitive entrance that it had taken her several tries with a patient Anders to appreciate. After what felt like a long adjustment period, her middle finger was buried to the knuckle, ensconced within a secret, forbidden chamber that constricted and thrummed around her. She hitched her finger forward and felt along the upper wall of his flesh, pressing into the softness of him until she located the little patch that she recognized as  _the spot._ That spot would change as his body grew closer to release, growing firm with a round bulge that heralded the expulsion of his fluids. She drew lazy swirls against him, slowly working a second finger within. It would help if he was already close before she fired up the magic again, but she began already to gather the mana within her, knowing that using electricity on the inside of a person required concentration and finesse. He continued to move against her, and she took his cue and began to follow his body, pulling halfway out until his body tensed, and then working slowly back in.. He was gasping, moaning, his hips rocking against the movement of her hands.

" _Maker,"_  he whispered. She readjusted again, scooting up so that she was closer to his face and knocking over a metal figure in the process. He seemed loose now, his cock continuing to twitch, his hips bucking, accepting the long, slow strokes as he issued a gentle stream of sighs.

"Look at me," she ordered him. His eyes fluttered open, the amber iris swallowed up by his widely gaping pupils, looking both at her and looking no where, seeing nothing past the sensations in his body.

"Does that feel good?" she asked as she watched him reverently, trying to resist sucking on his lips before he could answer.

He nodded with another heavy exhalation. Based on his breathing, his sighing, his body continuing to arch against her hand, it felt just as she knew it would. It would be a pleasant buzz that vibrated throughout the whole area, tingling into his cock in the same way it always did into her cunt.

Her own sex was throbbing, sweltering, her body begging her for some kind of contact. She realized she needed to finish him off simply so that she could have some of her own satisfaction. She squeezed her legs together, feeling an agonizingly pleasant peal of desire shoot upward and making her groan. It occurred to her that next time she should be taken care of first, so she could take her time with Cullen without her own need interfering.

"Are you ready?" she asked him, grateful to see him nod his assent.

It took a moment to pull her mind away from the desire crashing through her body, to shape the mana into an appropriately soft spark. And with a shudder of excitement she began to release it against him,  _inside_  him in a slow, gentle stream. Immediately his breath hitched sharply into this throat while his hips clenched tight, drawing firmly around her. His breathing was increasing, his chest rising and falling more rapidly, his exhalations carrying an uncontrolled vocalization which rang smoky and sweet throughout the room. A little more energy, and then just a little bit more still had him bucking hard again, his cock seeming to tighten, straining up into the air in preparation to come.

"Fuck!" he called desperately, almost choking on the word. His arms began to move, pulling out of their position as his body rocked and arched. As the first spurts of his seed began to land on his chest his whole body curled inward, his whimpers turning into sobs, his face drawn into an expression of such unbearable need that it was all she could do not to pull herself free and climb on top of him to aid him along the rest of the way. Instead she held the current steady, pressing it against the firm bulge that had developed in the place within him, the spot, that special, mysterious spot that for a man mirrored that aching center found deep within a woman. His cock continued to twitch, the swollen skin pink and glistening, the perfect vessel for delivering and receiving a tempest of pleasure. But it was also its own pleasure simply to watch him, to know that this gift afforded to her by the Maker, the gift of magic, could perform such an unexpected variety of miraculous feats. His body shuddered, quivered, reduced to a fluid mass of pure orgasm. She watched in awe as he unfolded before her, his face narrating the arc of his internal experience, his brow taut, his teeth chewing on his lip, his toes curling. He was radiant, divine, the pure embodiment of sex.

Finally he fell back, panting through the intensity of the come down, but she didn't pull away just yet. She waited, knowing that after a minute of letting his body rebound, letting him catch his breath, she could repeat the show. Experiments with Anders had shown that this could be continued for several orgasms at least, though the result of continued efforts was to render Anders completely worthless for the rest of the night. And that would defeat the purpose now. She decided then that two would be enough, so that it caused him no extra strain when she brought him back to an erection after a nice, restful break, hoping still that she might receive her own thorough fucking.

His breathing had slowed, his eyes staring dazedly into the ceiling while his chest glistened with a river of his seed. She waited another moment before conjuring up the current again, watching his softening cock reverse its movement and begin to grow once more. He whimpered a sound that could have been one of pain, causing her to pause.

"Are you okay?" she asked gently, leaning in to brush her lips against his temple. He turned his face as he nodded, breathing jaggedly into the nook of her neck.

"Yes… please… don't stop," he whispered, his voice raspy with lust. With a satisfied grin she continued on, teasing sparks of electricity against his inner walls, bringing his body back into a rocking urgency as she moved her fingers into him, fucking him freely now that he was loose and open. His moans grew sharp, loud, evolving into forceful grunts that encouraged her to unleash just a little bit more.

The second orgasm came like a crash of thunder, ushered in with rapid whimpers, with his hand finally breaking free from where he'd been keeping it and grasping hard onto her neck, pulling her toward him where she met his hot, open mouth. He grunted and groaned against her lips, sucked on her tongue, keened and gyrated wantonly against her thrusting hand.

" _Fuck,"_  he growled, a feral emission that sounded more animal than human. Rapidly he clenched again, bearing down against the sensations between his legs as once again his torso coiled, tensing with the crashing pleasure filling his every glorious cell.

When he was done, she felt desperately aroused, practically on the brink of orgasm herself. She extracted her hand gently from between his legs, and pulled away to go back to the water and basin and clean up. As she walked around the room she was shaky, her legs trembling beneath her as though her bones were made of jelly. She could only hope that he'd be up for returning the favor after a bit of a rest. It certainly wouldn't be the first time they'd spent the entirety of the night making love again and again. But the new stamina afforded to him by that blasted lyrium had certain been a force to be reckoned with, and she was sure she wouldn't be left wanting. Even if his cock wasn't up for a 4th go round, Cullen was a giver, generous with his attentions and skilled with his mouth and hands.

She climbed up onto the table and curled herself beside him, stroking at his hair as he continued to daze deliriously into the space above. She laughed gently to herself as she inspected the splatter of his juices. They'd reached an impressive height and distance, and she wondered for a moment just what little remnants of their night they might be leaving behind on the table.

While he recovered she peppered his sweaty face with gentle kisses, gazing down at him lovingly, showing her appreciation for each individual feature of his, same as she had always done, and will always do. That she had somehow earned the love of such a beautiful, magnificent man still seemed almost impossible, and she was content merely to sit in silence and admire him. In time his eyes seemed to find their focus, flicking over to return her adoring gaze with a spark of sheer bewilderment.

"Maker's breath," he sighed eventually. "I can… I can barely even speak." He blinked hard, and let out a quiet laugh. She slipped her arm under his neck and cradled his head close, ignoring the continuing pulsations of her insistently aroused sex in order to continue laying tokens of her love all over his face, his lips, his earlobe. 

"You don't need to speak. Just rest for a while, love. It's my turn next."


	30. Chapter 30

The world outside Skyhold was dull, colorless and frigid. With eyes squeezed shut, Avery clung fiercely to the reins of her horse until the familiar terror of the bridge crossing was past, and even then felt little need to open them again. White mountains, white sky and the shifting backs of the Inquisition party on their horses was all there really was to see, at least until they got lower in the mountains and the valleys became less frightening. The week had slipped through her and Cullen's fingers, and there was still no telling when she would be coming home. That knowledge punched her in the stomach every time she thought about it, with the trip ahead feeling all the more dreadful due to the lack of connection she felt to any of the others that Anon had brought along. Bull's loyalties were already known, and set staunchly in opposition to her, but for this trip there was also someone new: a shiny, immaculately groomed Tevinter mage who remained only a short clip behind the other two men, seemingly welcomed into their little bubble with great enthusiasm. She supposed making her the odd one out had probably been intentional, in retaliation for how ostracized Anon had become among her own newly made Skyhold friends. But it wouldn't be the first time she'd felt on the outskirts of a group, and she saw little option in dealing with it other than to keep her head high and mouth shut.

From far ahead came the murmurs of laughter, Anon's and Dorian's in particular. Dorian had seemed rather blunt, but charming in his effusively egotistical way, and each time he turned around to glance at her she made a point to smile at him. Usually, to her great relief, he smiled back. As much anger as she held in her heart for Anon, the whole trip would just feel all the longer and more tedious if she made herself completely unapproachable, and only reinforced her own alienation. A week of time to process what Anon had done to her and Cullen hadn't softened her new opinion of the man, hadn't uncovered any new understanding, hadn't really done anything at all to change the recent dynamic between them. But somehow it still cut at her to be pushed so deliberately outside of the circle of people she was traveling with, the only people she would see at all for however long it took to get out of the Frostbacks. And probably also for a great stretch of the deserted Western Approach.

Avery's saving grace was the solid week she and Cullen had just enjoyed together; seven of the most beautiful days she'd known in longer than she could even remember. No longer were their hearts and minds weighed down with worry about lyrium withdrawals, or Avery being evicted from Skyhold. If they'd truly thought about it they'd have easily felt the invisible shackles that encumbered them now, but with the long trip to the Western Approach looming so close it seemed like a waste of time to do anything other than enjoy every precious minute they had left. Those memories would carry her through the trip, and she had done her damnedest to carefully record in her mind every detail that she could in the hopes that they might serve that very purpose.

Three hours into the day's ride and she could still feel Cullen's lips on hers from their goodbye. Not just his lips, but his hands, the crush of his arms, the softness of the patch of golden hair over his heart, all of it lingering vividly in her mind, mingling with the groan-inducing deliciousness of his scent. The saddle she rode upon chafed at the soreness between her legs, but it was a sweet pain, a pain she knew she would long for as time stretched between them. As she let her mind wander away from the monotony of the mountain trails she was surprised to find that the memory that stood out the strongest was a simple one of her and Cullen in the bath.

It was the morning after their night in the War Room, the second day that she'd officially been part of the Inquisition, and they were still feeling delirious with relief. When they'd finished in the War Room, Cullen had run to the tower and stuck a note to the main door of his office, informing the messengers that he was not going to be in until later the next day and to leave whatever reports they had for him on his desk. They spent the night — or what few hours of night that were left — in her old quarters. He was afraid that there'd be too many people coming in and out of his office for them to really get any peace up in the loft, even if the messengers weren't knocking first.

That day had been dark, the sun buried behind a foggy sea of grey stormclouds. Outside the rain came and went, pitter-pattering for hours against the window to her old room, and after being woken by growling stomachs and sending for breakfast, they finally had the new tub filled. The night on the War Table left them both fully satiated and they were too sore to do much other than soak lazily in the scented water of the bath.

In her mind she could still hear the crackling of the fire in the fireplace, built more for the light than for the heat; could still see the orange glow from the flames dancing on the stone walls of the unusually dark room. Could hear the tapping of the rain against the window. It hadn't even been noon but the darkness made it feel like it was late in the day. Avery had lain behind him in the bath, and after administering a lengthy massage that had reduced him to a boneless mass of limp muscle beneath her hands, she spent what felt like hours just holding him. His eyes were closed, his features soft and restful, and for one of the few times that she could recall, he truly looked the embodiment of peace. He slept for a short time, with his cheek in the hollow of her shoulder and her legs wrapped around his waist. She stroked his hair and tried to absorb him into herself, with the water around them enhancing the sensation that they had truly become one. Even well after her fingertips grew soggy and wrinkled she still didn't want to untangle herself from Cullen and get out of the tub. It had been a long, quiet, beautiful morning, and the memory of it made for a long, quiet, beautiful first day trotting down the mountain path.

The second day on the road she was sore all over, from the horse, from the sleepless night on the frozen ground, from a mind that wouldn't rest after quickly consuming more of Cullen's distressing letters in the dying firelight. The first had been short, clearly given up on by him after a few sentences began to wander into incoherence. The second had described in great detail the headaches that had begun to plague him almost constantly, along with an ever present thirst that disrupted his ability to focus. As painful as it was to read, she absorbed every detail and filed it away, wondering when the day would come that she would be by his side, aiding him through the same pains yet again.

Each jostle of the horse hitting a bump reverberated painfully through her cramping muscles, repeatedly jolting her out of the fantasy that occupied the long, empty hours. Conversation continued up ahead, though Dorian had begun trailing behind to canter along beside her. He'd been to Kirkwall he'd said, and wasn't impressed. She described Kirkwall pre-chantry, while he filled her in on its condition post-chantry. Mostly it seemed exactly how Cullen described. She wondered just what Fenris would find if he chose to return there and take up residence in her mansion.

The fourth day, conversation stopped completely. Game for hunting had been sparse, the cold had seeped deeply into their bones, and their bellies rumbled with hunger. The mountains stretched on and on in a frigid, endless loop, though the snow was retreating, signaling an eventual end to their torment. Avery's mind continued to wander, revisiting the War Table, Cullen's letters, the ledge in Kirkwall, Fenris and Anders. Already it felt like it had been weeks since they'd left the oasis of Skyhold and the rest of the trip stretched before her like an endless eternity. Accomplishing what they'd set out to do, and then safely making the long trip the rest of the way home, felt like an impossibly monumental task.

On the sixth day, the mountains became foothills, and Avery was elated to spy the first washes of green in the distance. Anon and Bull returned from their hunt with a large ram, prompting a dinnertime gorging that left all groaning in discomfort as they lay like slabs around the fire. The tension between Avery and Anon had lessened somewhat, due mostly to forced interactions during the nightly camp setup and early morning breakdown. She answered his questions politely, and asked her own when she needed to. She caught his dark eyes following her around camp a few times, and chose to ignore it even as it sent the occasional shiver up her spine. It seemed incomprehensible that he could maintain any interest in her after everything that he'd said and done. All she could think to do, as with everything else so far on the trip, was grit her teeth and bear it.

On the eighth day the air warmed and stayed warm even after the sun began to set, and they finally made it to the first permanent camp on the outskirts of the mountains. Instead of spend an exhausted hour tending to her equally exhausted horse, she simply handed him off to the camp's resident horsemaster. Instead of urge her aching muscles into building a tent and excavating her gear, she merely dropped her pack beside a cot and collapsed beside the fire. Instead of negotiate hunting duties, or help to clean and cook the kill, she accepted a bowl of hot stew that was thrust into her hands as well as two letters that had arrived at camp a few days before.

In her haste to begin reading, she inhaled the savory mutton stew almost faster than she could taste it, coughing for a moment over a swallowed chunk of soft carrot. When she was done she ripped through wax seals, starting first with Fenris, so that she could take her time through Cullen's. It seemed a new treat to have correspondence from him that would be so different from those she continued to read on a nightly basis, letters that grew more and more distant as he grappled with his physical pain. Words from her loved ones were exactly what her soul needed, exactly what was required to melt away the ice that the lonely journey through the mountains had encased around her heart. She read each slowly, her eyes lingering on every word as if trying on some level to connect spiritually with the men, her heart soaring to finally be reminded that there were those in the world who still loved her, even if the past week had made her feel more friendless than ever.

_Hawke,_

_It took me and Matthias a while to compose this letter, as we are still a bit stunned at your news. Firstly, congratulations on your marriage to Commander Cullen. I must admit that the memories of the pain I saw you endure after we left Kirkwall makes this news a little worrying to me, just as you expected it would be. But Matthias reminds me that I must trust that you would not enter into such a marriage rashly, and that my desire to protect you cannot come at the expense of your happiness. From such a distance, I am incapable of offering much protection to you anyhow. But please make sure your new husband is informed that if he breaks your heart again, I will crush his in return, as well as those of any who might stand in the way of my doing so. If you truly are happy however, then I am happy for you, my friend. Of course I am._

_Secondly, I am deeply honored that you would offer us your home in Kirkwall, and me your surname. Of course it shouldn't surprise me that you would make such an offer, but accepting a gift so large is something that I struggle to do easily, even though I admit that returning to Kirkwall has crossed my mind quite a few times over the years. The acquaintances Matthias has in Cumberland are just that. They are not family and they offer nothing other than a few mercenary jobs and a dry place to lay our bedrolls. But the prospect of settling down in a real home is one that speaks to my heart, and I believe we are seriously considering taking you up on it. Seriously enough that we have delayed our plans to catch a ship across the sea in the hopes that we might rendezvous with you first to discuss this in person. Might you be able to meet us in Val Fermin? Based on Matthias' map, it should be along your route to the Western Approach. I only hope this letter makes it to you before you pass the city. I will leave a message with the closest Inquisition camp to inform you of where we can be found._

_I look forward to seeing you, and I thank you more than I know how to say._

_Fenris_

 

 

xxxxx

 

 

_My darling Wife,_

_Skyhold has never felt so empty. I wake in the night and reach for you, only to find an empty space beside me in bed. You haunt my dreams as strongly as you ever have, and I can't remember a stretch of time when I've been so free of nightmares while sleeping alone. Instead of demons and Uldred I see your pert little bottom, your milky white shoulders and your adorable smirk. I feel you, taste you and hear your laughter. I refuse to credit the lyrium for this, and instead I am convinced it must be your love, reaching over time and space to comfort me as I sleep, just as you always do when you are physically by my side. It's only been a week and I already miss you desperately._

_I've taken to keeping several stalks of lavender on the bedside table, as well as a small vase on my desk so that at least I might smell you when the need hits, a practice which has raised a few eyebrows from my soldiers. One of the many perks of being the Commander however is that I do not need to explain myself. They might understand someday, if they are ever as blessed with love as we are. Though Mother Giselle warns me that at my current pace the garden will soon be picked clean of lavender altogether, so I am trying to learn the preferences of this picky plant to allow each stalk to live as long as possible before I must return to the garden for more. I've have even spoken to the Skyhold botanist about keeping a pot of it in my office, but he informs me that there is not enough sunlight to keep one healthy. I have a small pot of it under the opening in the loft, but even there the sun is out of reach for most of the day and the stalks have begun to droop. Alas, the garden lavender will continue to be sacrificed in your memory, and I have sent out for a crate of seeds for new plantings in hopes that I might always have some tangible piece of you here while I wait for you to return to me._

_I cannot wait for this to all be over and for you to be back here where you belong. Tell the Inquisitor that if he does not return you to me safely, I will destroy him myself, and take great pleasure in doing so. Please write me when you can. I know you will be tired each night at camp, but a few words from you when you can manage it would ease my mind greatly._

_I love you._

_Cullen_

Avery laughed at the warnings issued by both men, their protectiveness warming her even more quickly than the blazing campfire. On the other side Bull and Anon joked, telling vulgar jokes that Dorian ignored as he returned for a second bowl of stew. Avery rose unnoticed and retreated to her tent to dig out the stationery from her pack, settling in to compose a lengthy response to Cullen.

On the ninth day, she finally found water to bathe in. She'd walked away from the camp once her meal had been consumed, and picked her way through a reedy forest clearing. There was a rocky ledge rising high overhead, with a white vein of falling water hissing down the side. She was determined to locate the stream that it had to pour into. After a week and a half of spongebaths in her tent, the Maker himself couldn't keep her from seeking out a proper bath.

It took an hour, but she tuned her ears for the telltale rushing and located the source just as the last of the purple sunset drained out of the horizon. She began removing her clothes the moment the glinting of the moonlight off the water came into view, and was deliriously happy to spy a pool in a bend of the stream, not unlike the one she'd bathed in with Cullen weeks before. When she took her last few steps toward the silvery water she smiled what felt like her first genuine smile in days, and quickened her pace in order to plunge in all at once.

The water was as frigid as she expected, sourced presumably from some high elevation snowpack. She tried in vain to warm the water around her, but the movement of the stream around the bend carried away her heat as quickly as she could make it and she abandoned the attempt quickly. She shivered as she scrubbed at her scalp with her fingertips, lathering her hair with the lavender soap, the distinctive scent that transported her instantly back into Cullen's arms. He'd been right about how intensely the scent brought their time together to mind, how suddenly her inner vision became awash in golden skin and curls, the scruff of stubble against her palms, cheek and shoulders, the solid curves of muscle that enveloped her with such warm fervor. It seemed some small connection between them, that he would nurture stalks of lavender on his desktop while she retreated into memory as she washed her hair. Somewhere in the fade their minds might be meeting, each seeking the other on the back of a distinctively sharp floral scent. She'd had to stop using the lavender soap during their years apart, and even now it seemed simultaneously a comfort and a taunt, eliciting pangs of sadness that rang out equally as strong as the memory of bliss. Though things had gotten easier over the past several days, she still felt somehow engulfed in silence, traveling through hard lands with companions who kept an icy buffer between her and them, at least in every moment not discussing plans and strategy. She looked forward to Val Fermin, where at least she might again be in the company of someone whose heart was never a mystery.

On her cot in the tent memory took control again, and it was often the sex that tormented her, the knowledge she had now of every inch of Cullen's body, the passion that radiated from his every touch. She recalled their thighs sliding together, legs hooking around in a tangle, arms and hands searching out every nook and valley that could be caressed or embraced. She thought of the sound of his exhalations rushing through his lips as his body registered some new sensation, some heightening of stimulation from her hands, lips or hips. She thought of how his hair felt between her fingers once it was moistened with sweat, carrying its own little atmosphere of warmth and mist.

But when she wasn't in her cot, when she was just sitting on her horse, or holding a finished letter in her hands while her eyes blurred over the dancing campfire flames, it was the tender moments she thought about. The little glimmer of laughter in his eyes when he looked at her, the way he'd always remove his glove before he held her hand, the way he always stepped ahead to open the door before she could, but would never enter a room first. The way his thumb would rub soothing circles into her side when he kept his hand on the small of her back. Nine days away from him felt like nine lifetimes, nine long, empty existences where nothing had occurred other than cold tedium and soul crushing loneliness.

 _I am stronger than this,_  she told herself in the moments she felt tempted to slide into self-pity. It seemed a cruel paradox that her love for Cullen made her feel so strong when he was by her side, yet seemed to sap all her strength when he was not. Somewhere long ago, when she was younger and more energetic, she would have admonished herself for allowing a man to influence her so strongly, to inflict upon her such weakness. But that very weakness seemed to extend to her own inner voice, which seemed not to have the heart to issue stern warnings any more.

In reality there was probably a bit more to it than a simple question of strength; she simply did not  _want_  to be out on the road. Her heart was elsewhere, and growing all the more distant as they traveled further and further away from the man who was her home. Her days of constant movement, of chasing down demons and villains were supposed to be behind her. Or at least she wanted them behind her. How much longer would she have to toil before she could rest? One place, one home, perhaps a family. Just as Fenris had said; the prospect of finally settling down once and for all spoke to her heart. It was already long overdue, and yet still so far out of reach.

On the twelfth day, Dorian accosted her in her tent and demanded she join him with the others for a game of Wicked Grace.

"This isn't a request, Mrs. broody," he chuckled. "You can read another night. Up. On we go. Chop, chop."

Avery reluctantly lowered the letter in her hand, one of Cullen's longer ones, and sighed in defeat. A game of Wicked Grace, played presumably as though they were all just easy friends, might end up being an awkward struggle, though she supposed much of that would depend upon her own contribution. The wall separating her from the group hadn't been  _entirely_  theirs. There was no doubt she continued to carry a seething anger, despite how tiring it had become. She couldn't  _not_  be angry with Anon, but dwelling on it, thinking on it as often as she still did had long become an energy drain. If letting go of her anger was enough to constitute forgiveness, it would be given not for his benefit, but only for her own. With one less thing to stew on over on the long day's journeys, she'd be free to devote her energy to more worthy subjects. Such as mentally organizing all she'd been gathering from Cullen's letters regarding his lyrium withdrawal. Helping him through his addiction once and forever might possibly be one of the most singularly difficult challenges of her life, and she would have to rise to it. What Anon had done could not be changed, but at the very least she could refuse to let her resentment continue to drag her down and isolate her from the people she had no choice but to rely upon.

Bull's tent was warm, almost stiflingly so. The closer they got to the Western Approach, the hotter the air became, with Val Fermin only a day's journey away. The campsites they rode into now all had tents with tied open flaps, with screened windows angled toward the breeze. Set up in the shadiest spots in the area, each new site seemed to contain fewer and fewer trees. She hoped this meant they'd finally reach this nightmare destination soon. This whole trip needed to be over.

Bull raised a flagon in greeting, and a slosh of deep purple wine spilled over the side. He laughed a laugh that spoke of many flagons already emptied, and Anon's eyes held an unsteady glassiness that she recognized from that tumultuous night at the Winter Palace.

"Be thankful you have my company to make up for these lushes," Dorian smirked with a raised eyebrow, as he slid into his chair beside Anon. The elf's dark eyes followed the mage as he moved, trained tellingly on the man before flitting over to assess Avery. He said nothing as she took her place in a chair on the opposite side of the table, but his gaze did not harden. Bull slid her a flagon from a cask behind him, and then roared an excited laugh as he dealt the cards.

Avery realized in that moment why she hadn't been more welcoming toward Dorian's occasional overtures of friendship, even though she'd been longing for someone to talk to. It was all the more clear now that she would be seeing Fenris in only a day or two. Her oldest friend's gravelly voice remained imprinted indelibly into her mind, snarling one of his many stories about the dangers of the Vints, about the magisters, the blood magic, the greed for power and corruption. Dorian seemed nice enough, and had indeed been the only of the three men to show her regular kindness, but Fenris' warnings had been carved deeply into her psyche, so deeply she scarcely noticed it until she sat beside him, faced with the prospect that her friend and this Tevinter mage might meet. Such a thing could taint what was supposed to be a joyous reunion. Over the years Fenris had learned quite a bit about diplomacy and opening his mind, but could a former slave — and one abused as utterly as Fenris had been - ever truly escape that trauma? She had only a day to figure out a way to keep Fenris from the group, or have a plan for defusing what could turn into an explosive situation.

Avery sighed as she drained half her flagon in a single gulp, and then picked up her cards. After a moment, she set her cards back down and drained the second half of the wine, suddenly anxious to be free of every leaden thought that was banging around inside her head.

"Yeah, thatta girl," Bull growled approvingly, his one eye sparkling with mischief as he refilled the flagon for her and slid it back across the table. She shrugged off the tension in her shoulders as she took another deep drink, sighing at the warmth that spread from her belly and out to her limbs. She decided on the spot that she would let go of whatever resentment she still harbored for Anon, at least for the evening, and do her best to enjoy her time in the company of these men. She was too tired not to.

The night ended with her breaking even and Dorian sulking as he lost his last silver to Bull. The sexual innuendos between the three had only grown more brazen as the night dragged on and the wine cask emptied, and by the time they'd completed their last game and Avery bid goodnight, she'd begun to feel a bit like an interloper. The saturated looks passing between the three had extended to her only via Bull and Anon, and it became increasingly clear that Dorian was not interested in that form of female company. Not that it mattered. She twisted the amber ring on her finger over her folded hand of cards, drawing attention back to her newly married status as effectively as any verbal rebuff.

From her cot two tents over, she heard the inevitable outcome of the innuendos, beginning with low, hushed laughter and the occasional lurid groan. The wine seemed to make them think they were being quieter than they were, but the words whispered between the three of them were as audible as her own breathing.

"How do you fit that thing inside this skinny little elf?" Dorian asked incredulously.

"The same way I'm going to get it into you," Bull laughed. "With patience and lots of lube."

Anon giggled, his voice carrying the high pitched indicator of his far gone intoxication, but turning eventually to a low moan and the smacking sounds of kissing.

"You two do this often, then?" Dorian asked.

"Nah, only every once in a while. He's usually preoccupied with the ladies."

"So you  _do_  prefer the company of women?" asked Dorian, his voice hesitant and containing a note of something that sounded like poorly veiled disappointment. Anon moaned first before slurring a response.

"I have no particular preference either way. A warm body is a warm body," Anon sighed. There were the sounds of movement and a grunt from Bull.

"Mmm, he is really good at this," Bull groaned. "Show the Vint how good you are with your mouth, Inquisitor. I'll be the one to watch for a while."

Anon seemed to whine for a moment, with more slurping and smacking sounding off loudly. Avery was sure even the guards could hear.

"Mmhmm," Anon groaned, "no, don't just watch… do that  _thing._ Please?"

Bull snorted, "You want me to play like I'm Commander Goldilocks for you again?"

There were moans, belonging to both Dorian and Anon, followed by the squeaking of a cot and shifting clothing.

"Ah, so that's why you treat Hawke the way you do? Jealous?" Dorian asked, his voice throaty and interrupted by the apparent need to inhale sharply at whatever working over he was getting from Anon's mouth.

"He wants her too, or maybe just wants to  _be_  her. It's… complicated," Bull responded. "He does love a good game of naughty Mage and dirty Templar."

The slurping sounds halted for a moment, followed by a long second of silence.

"What?" asked Bull.

"Less talk, more tongue," grumbled Anon.

Bull snorted again, "you know better than that, kid. I only take orders from you  _outside_  of bed."

The salacious sounds of sex echoed deep into the night, and despite her mind crying desperately for sleep, Avery's body responded strongly to the audible pleasures being shared between the three men. She could barely stop her hand from traveling into her smalls and dipping into the ready slickness between her legs. It seemed impossible to block out the sharp grunts and groans coming louder and louder as the night dragged on, but she could at least replace the unsolicited visions of their activities with one of the last days she'd spent with Cullen.

It had started with the short leather skirt and Cullen's eyes locked onto her bare thighs as she walked toward him that morning at his desk. His quill froze over the paper he was writing upon, dripping ink down onto the document into a shiny black pool.

"Oh no," she exclaimed teasingly as she walked around to his side of the desk, leaning over beside him in a pretend attempt to inspect the mess. He sat back in his chair enough to confirm her lack of smalls, and quickly ran a hot hand up the inside of her thigh, pulling her toward him until she was exposed in his own private display. In her memory she could feel his tongue sliding up and down her slit, circling the little aching nub at the front of her, and then sliding back to push deeply between her cheeks. He pulled back just as the door to his office clicked open, and he cleared his throat and pretended to read his documents once again.

She couldn't remember what business the messenger brought, her body instantly on fire from the brief attentions of his mouth, but as soon as the messenger was gone, she was on her knees, backing up under his desk to finally live out the fantasy that she'd had ever since Kirkwall.

She'd just gotten his cock free of his pants when the door opened again, the footsteps had stopped only feet away from his desk when she was sliding his cock into her mouth, the back of her head hitting slightly against the underside of his desk. He feigned a cough as she took him deep into her throat, slicking up his shaft with her juices and holding onto his thighs to keep herself centered. She heard choked words above her, a halted exchange with not one but what sounded like at least three other voices, before Cullen cleared his throat again and asked the men if they'd come back in an hour. When their streps retreated and the door closed behind them, a hand found her head and wound through her hair while his hips tensed and bucked below her, his moans muffled through the thick wood of his tabletop.

Oh how she loved the taste of him, the broad cockhead that pushed her throat open, demanding that it relax around it, the clean smoothness of his velvety skin, the intoxicating musk that clung softly to his golden curls. She swirled her tongue up and down the veins and ridges of his shaft, hearing herself moan in the process. Soon enough his door opened again and his body went stiff. She increased her suction and gently handled his soft bollocks, throwing her body forward as she made love to his cock with her lips, her tongue, her throat. Overhead, Cullen's voice grew unexpectedly sharp.

"It's pointless to give the village the supplies if they're just going to be taken by a band of petty thieves. If the men can't wipe the bandits out completely, then some soldiers must stay behind to offer security for the town. Those are good men, surely no one will have to be forced to do what is right."

A low murmuring came from the other men, offering agreement.

"See that the soldiers have enough of their own rations and supplies, so they need not be a burden on the townsfolk. And please report to me the names of any man who volunteers for the post. I would see them compensated appropriately," Cullen said. Avery had stopped a moment, distracted by the authority in his tone. One of the voices that rose in response was one she recognized. That messenger named Jim.

"Yes, ser. Of course. Er… Is it too warm in here for you, Commander?" Jim asked. "Your cheeks are rather… flushed?"

"I'm fine," Cullen barked. Avery took her cue to continue the ministrations of her tongue, giggling silently to herself and wanting more than ever to compensate her Commander for his own good work. "Now, please… I've got some… uh, important things to… read."

Avery doubled down once those footsteps began to retreat back toward the door, and after it clicked closed once again both hands grabbed her head and took control of the pace. He gripped her hair and steadied her, beginning to thrust powerfully in and out of her mouth. She relaxed into his hands and obeyed the urging of his cock, his strokes both deep and quick, pounding at the back of her throat until she too was keening with the force of it. It was a scene she'd imagined numerous times since Kirkwall, herself sequestered under his desk, pleasuring him secretly while he squirmed, attempting to appear normal before his subordinates.

"Fuck," he groaned, his grip growing tighter. She put her lips over her teeth and clamped down around him, pressing her tongue hard against the underside of his cock.

His body grew tense, his back arching while the fingers tangled into her hair slipped and pulled, biting into her scalp with desperate readjustments. Almost sooner than she was prepared for it, the back of her throat was filled with hot, salty spurts that she gulped down ravenously, savoring the experience of his orgasm, the high pitched whimpers that followed each jerk of his hips, each tensing of his buttocks.

He'd only just relaxed back into his chair when yet another procession of people entered the room. Avery stayed in place between his legs and rested her cheek against his thigh, running her fingers through the thick, silky curls surrounding his softening cock as she listened to him speak to the men. He sounded looser now, more jovial than before, but still his tone could turn sharp in an instant, commanding that authority that he seemed to wield without effort. When the room was empty again, he slid away from the desk enough to help her back to her feet.

He laced up his breeches before pulling her into his lap for a nuzzle and a kiss.

"So now my belly is full of your seed," she'd whispered between kisses laid over his jaw. "I'd like some more of it, whenever you are able. Fill me up, Commander."

Cullen hissed a laugh into her ear before bucking up into her bottom.

" _Fill_  you?"

"That's right. If you are up to it," she cooed into his ear, taking his earlobe between her lips and stoking it with her tongue. He laughed in return. He had been up to nearly everything she had in mind, in part due to the new energy that seemed to burst from him from at all hours of the day and night.

"Come find me," she called over her shoulder before she slipped through the door, "I'll be around."

It only took a few hours before he did, approaching her from behind on the battlements. His strong hands guided her to lean over the railing in the same manner as the last time they were up there, with her in that very skirt. She expected his hand, same as as the last time, but what slipped between her thighs as she arched back against him was the solid thickness of his cock, poised and ready. He entered into her sex and drove deep, pressing to the hilt before leaning forward with her and pretending to look down at the courtyard below.

"Hm, that is an interesting hat," he remarked at a woman walking toward the lower courtyard, his smoky voice in her ear sending a shiver over her tingling skin. A visiting Orlesian stalked across the grass but Avery barely saw her, her mind instead captivated by the slow strokes that worked in and out of her body, working her into a delirium with an unexpected quickness. They kept their movements concealed, hips grinding languidly against her buttocks, while he nibbled her ear and reached around to her thighs, finding her pearl and working it skillfully.

"I love feeling you come on my cock," he whispered into her ear. "I love how you grow so tight, how I can feel you clenching. Maker's breath you're exquisite."

Her eyes rolled closed and then open again, searching the courtyard for any signs that their activities were recognized. Despite the slow pace they both finished forcefully, and in what felt like only seconds. She squeezed her legs closed as his hips dug into the cheeks of her ass, causing his grunt to grow sharp and loud, his body shuddering against her.

"Two down, one to go," she said with a smirk before he made his way back to his office.

It was almost dinnertime when he found her the third time, wandering around the garden. The Great Hall was clearing out as everyone made their way toward the kitchens, and only three others remained in the garden with her when Cullen approached, his radiant face bearing his typical half smile. The garden, as lush and overgrown as it was, held no nook dark enough to be fully private in the golden light of early evening. Picking up his hand, she pulled him to the nearest door, checking the latch which was disappointingly locked. They moved along until they came to a door that was not, and it opened into the room that held the shrine of Andraste, as well as two quiet bodies knelt solemnly in prayer. He raised an eyebrow as they joined them, kneeling on the floor beside the others and reverently lowering their heads. It occurred to her that perhaps inside the room containing a sacred shrine might not be the best place to ask her faithful husband to take her, but her concerns were assuaged when she felt his fingertips once again on the back of her thighs, climbing higher and higher with a touch so light it raised her hairs on end. His caresses slowed further as they slipped under her skirt and traced the crease of her buttocks, inciting a wave of shivers that she strained to keep in check.

Andraste's statue towered over them, the bulk of it composed of a flowing skirt carved from a column of stone as wide as a tree and surrounded in creeping ivory, that stretched up to Andraste's open arms and downturned face. Avery took the quiet moment to whisper a heartfelt prayer, that she and Cullen be protected from further hardship, that her impending trip be executed smoothly and without great danger. That she return home to her husband as quickly as humanly possible.

When the two silent worshippers rose and left, Avery picked up Cullen's hand, pulling him behind the massive stone statue.

"Andraste wouldn't approve, but…" she began.

"Why wouldn't she? We are man and wife, and we are in love. Surely the holy Andraste approves of love. There's nothing wrong with a married couple having a little fun."

Avery snorted, her cheeks warming as she beamed a smile at her beautiful man.

"Well when you put it like that…"

In a heartbeat he was upon her, his mouth searching hers hungrily, tongue lining her teeth, her lips in a wave of hot breaths. His hands searched with equal fervor, squeezing at her buttocks, palming at her breasts, gripping at her waist and it was all she could do not to strip naked for him on the spot. Instead she turned around, and offered him what he'd been promised while bracing herself against the back of Andraste's skirt. If anyone entered, unlikely until after dinner had been served, they might only catch a glimpse if they'd pressed themselves along the wall directly before the shrine. Still they'd need to be quiet, as many were fond of taking their dinner to the gardens, sitting on the benches that lined the walls just along the perimeter.

"Yes," Cullen hissed. One hand remained on her while the other freed his cock, but it was his mouth she felt first, his teeth gnawing gently at her cheeks. He worked deeply into her with his tongue, and then followed up with his finger, loosening her entrance until she was quivering and ready, on the verge of begging him.

When finally he slid inside her ass, she was panting and writhing, straining to keep her body still and her cries quiet. His breaths were low growls in her ear, dragging in an audible mirroring of his throbbing cock.

"Yes," he groaned again.

Behind Andraste they fucked, his thrusts growing wild as her body continued to warm, relaxing around him and rocking into the intense buzz of their joining. She slowed her breathing into even sighs and pressed back into him, his cock a rod of hot steel that seemed to be skewering deep into her belly.

It was at this point in her fantasy of that day that her body began to rock with orgasm as her fingers worked furiously inside her smalls. The fantasy of Cullen had the impact of flesh and blood, with each remembered stroke of his powerful hips driving her harder and deeper into an ecstatic rapture. It helped a little that she could almost mistake Dorian's whimpering for Cullen's, aiding her as she spilled over the edge of bliss, biting her lip to keep her voice from joining the three men two tents over. Her body remembered Cullen's cock, recalled the nipping of his teeth on her shoulder as he fucked, his pace matching his racing heart and panting breaths, his fingers clawing at her ass cheeks before grabbing her by the jaw and turning her head in order to claim her mouth.

Somehow within the almost two weeks they'd been apart she'd not been tempted to pleasure herself, and the dearth of sensation that her body had become so accustomed to was compensated for with a shocking vengeance. She quaked from her toes to her scalp, and had to turn her head to stifle her whines with the pillow.

When it was over, she was surprised once again to find herself crying a confusion of tears. Avery desperately wanted her husband.

There was no end in sight yet for the amorous partners who had seemed to have shed all traces of restraint. Sleep did not seem possible with such a chorus of voices sharing their experience with the entirety of the camp. Avery did the only thing she could think to do, and pulled out the portfolio, flipping to the next letter and bracing herself for the uncharacteristic coldness that inhabited the more recent of them.

_Avery,_

_It's been a month since my last letter to you, and even now I scarcely know where to begin this one. Things have changed a bit since the last I wrote. I am beginning to feel more steady, and I've been wondering if perhaps I might be reaching some kind of new balance with my lowered lyrium dose. Finally, thank the Maker. The headaches continue, and the dreams are torturous, but I feel more coherent than I have over the past several months. It is a welcome breakthrough though I am still cautious of getting too comfortable. It seems every time I think I have reached this point, some new malady bedevils me._

_I am not sure how to write this next thing I have to say, so I will just be out with it. I have had another woman. I even thought for a short time that she might be someone I could care for, and she certainly claimed to think the same of me. Myself and a battalion of Templars were in Lowtown, investigating reports of blood mage activity. I'm considering this a sign that Kirkwall is officially recovered, that mages are not only returning, but practicing the very dark magic that nearly caused this city to destroy itself. The reports turned out to be correct, and the mages were here with belated plans to retaliate against us Templars for their grievances against Meredith. Distant relatives of theirs had perished in the circle under Meredith's rule, and it turned out that the report had come directly from one of the mages themselves, as part of their plan to lure myself and my highest ranking men into a deathtrap. I don't have the energy to go into tedious detail, so I'll say only that we were not prepared for their numbers and the spells they had at hand, and many of my men were slaughtered. I too was injured, and left for dead on the Kirkwall streets. We managed to kill all but a few mages, though I received word three days ago that those had been captured and executed by some of Starkhaven's fleet._

_Thank the maker for the residents who left their homes and came to our aid. Without them at least five of my men wouldn't have survived. An herbalist was among them, a young woman with red hair and green eyes. She fed us all her potions which gave us strength enough to make it back to the Gallows, though first I somehow found myself inside her home as she tended to a horrible gash I got on my face. My lip was practically split in two, presumably from the staff blade of one of the mages. It has been weeks now and it still hurts to speak._

_A few days after I was on my feet again, I returned to the womans house, intending only to thank her for her kindness. She was soft and hospitable and looked nothing at all like you. It came as a surprise to us both when we ended up together in her bed._

_For a few days I had the possibility before me of having love again, which was a little exciting. But it went sour rather quickly. She wanted more of my time than I could give her, and got sullen and argumentative anytime I had to return to my post. She seemed to think I owed her my attention, and though I tried to be kind, I began to wonder about her true intentions. When she claimed to be with my child only a bit more than a week after we first lay together, my concerns only grew. And for good reason: she was lying, and I learned from Rylen that she had tried a similar thing with another Knight-Captain, apparently trying to raise her own station, though how she thought that would fare while simultaneously demanding we neglect our job is beyond me. It's been a bit of a shock. The first time since you that I am tempted by a woman more than just physically, and she turns out to be a snake in the grass. It is disheartening of course, but made me grateful to return to my solitary life._

_There is also another woman who is currently dogging me. A very bossy Seeker who has been asking quite a few questions around town about you. She has requested a private meeting with me a few times now, and I keep putting it off. To be honest I am afraid that I might not be able to conceal my true thoughts under her questioning. It's bad enough that I have begun to resent and despise my role here within the Templars, but talking about you to others sometimes does something to me that I struggle to control. It makes me feel a little bit like I can't breathe. I fear that if she asks the wrong question I might be discovered. I am surprised this has not happened already, in fact. But this Cassandra Pentaghast is tenacious. I don't think I will be able to put her off for much longer. If I am to be found out and possibly prosecuted for loving you, then I suppose I should probably just face the music. Perhaps the end of my time as Knight-Commander is long overdue._

_Cullen_


	31. Chapter 31

Avery squinted her eyes in the dim evening light as their horses approached the Val Fermin camp. Around the campfire sat a figure in a cloak, with what appeared to be a shock of white hair tufting out of the hood. With each clomp of her horse's hooves she tightened her focus, searching for the face beneath that would confirm the hair belonged to her old friend. He'd said he'd find a camp and leave a message of their location in Val Fermin. Perhaps he'd only just done so and hadn't yet left, or perhaps the guards had invited him to wait by the fire. Her heart jumped hopefully into her throat as their horses approached at a mind-numbingly slow speed. It was the tall, thin figure who walked up from behind and sat next to the cloaked man that confirmed her suspicions, as strapped to his back was the elegant arch of a bow. Fenris had said that Matthias was an archer. Avery's heart quickened as she slid off her horse and the reins left her hand, her mind focused like a pinpoint onto the vision of her friend.  _Fenris._

In her haste she almost stumbled over a treeroot that bulged up from the ground, but managed to recover well enough not to end up on her face. When the figure looked up, revealing the delicate blue lines on his chin and those distinctively elven eyes, Avery felt the sting of tears. Happy tears, but also tired, sad and overwhelmed all at once. The emotional walls she'd been carrying around for weeks crumbled, and in a blur of footsteps she found breath being squeezed out of her by the vise-like grip of her friend's arms.

"Hawke," he said with as much warmth as his growly voice was capable. It had only been months, how many exactly she could hardly recall, but as with so much lately it felt closer to years. Since they day they'd met they'd never missed a single important moment in each other's lives, even during the short time they'd separated after their last and final breakup. But so much had happened since the day she'd entered Skyhold and he was oblivious to most of it, a fact which now seemed almost incomprehensible. Her breaths came in shaky hiccups, and it took a moment to notice that she was not being stabbed in the face by his old shoulder spikes. It appeared that underneath the cloak he'd traded his old armor in for an outfit that was a little less conspicuous, an action that was likely the influence of his new lover. A sensible and overdue decision for a man who always seemed to resent the attention his striking appearance brought him.

Behind them approached the hoofbeats of the other horses, followed by the low murmurs of Bull and Dorian greeting the camp stablehand. Avery took a deep, steadying breath and finally released Fenris, holding him at arms length to take him in fully with her eyes, while he did the same.

"You look good!" she laughed, her chest aching happily at the sight. "You're… a little thicker... Is that possible?"

Fenris nodded as he cast his eyes toward the bodies behind her, sizing up the approaching men quickly before returning his focus to her. "Matti keeps me almost annoyingly well fed. He could put an arrow through the eye of a falcon in flight."

Avery laughed again, her head growing light with giddiness."Well. I like him already."

"I wouldn't do that though," came a surprisingly soft voice from behind Fenris. "I like falcons, and they're not very good eating anyway."

Matthias was tall, with a broad chest and an archer's developed shoulders. Dressed in russet colored leathers from head to toe, he would have all but disappeared within the forest himself, easily mistaken for a tree. His face, like his voice, was gentle despite its ruggedness. Deep hazel eyes glinted in the firelight, looking regularly to Fenris in what was either concern or deference. After a moment Fenris turned and looked back toward the man. The respect and affection that passed between them with just a look was unmistakable.

"Hawke, this is—"

"Matthias!" she interrupted, surging forward to envelop the man in a welcoming hug. He smelled like leather, soft and woodsy and he hugged her back with an equal strength. "So wonderful to finally meet you. Thank you for taking such good care of my friend." He was about to respond when both men's faces turned to watch the same thing behind her. She heard no footsteps, which could only mean one person. Avery sighed.

"Hawke never mentioned she was expecting guests," came Anon's voice, the note of contrived joviality making her cringe. She glanced back to Fenris to see him watching her closely, his back stiffening as he took in her reaction. Anon gawked at Fenris, his eyes sparkling with an aggressively lurid interest. At least Dorian was still far behind, his head bowed in hushed conversation with Bull. The introduction of a Tevinter mage would squash Fenris's spirits even more quickly than Anon could hers.

"Oh," said Anon with a breath as he apparently realized who he was looking at. "You… you don't like anything like the pictures in the book. I mean, aside from the… hair and the... well, I mean I guess that's not exactly vallaslin, is it?"

Avery sighed again, deciding to just be on with it. The sooner introductions had been made, the sooner they could excuse themselves.

"Fenris, this is Mahanon. The Inquisitor. Anon, you apparently already know who this is… Fenris. And his  _partner_  Matthias,"Avery said.

Anon took a moment to check out Matthias and then turned back to Fenris with a giddy grin. Fenris shifted on his feet, his eyes regularly flicking back to Avery, his absorption of her discomfort seemingly complete.

"A pleasure," Fenris said without enthusiasm. "Unfortunately we can't stay much longer, and Hawke and I have some important matters to discuss. Please excuse us."

Avery snorted, appreciating Fenris' abrupt dismissal. She could feel the disappointment radiating off Anon, clearly feeling entitled to a more effusive and reverent reaction.

The three turned away with a polite nod to the inquisitor, and walked quietly away from the fire, with Fenris watching her in his usually careful way. She had rarely had to say much to him when she was getting a bad feeling about someone; Fenris could always read the little unspoken signals she gave off, whether she intended to do so or not. It was an immense relief knowing that hadn't changed.

Fenris raised a black eyebrow. "In your letters you failed to mention that the Inquisitor was a child."

Avery wanted to laugh, and wanted to laugh loudly. But she was sure it would heard and taken for what it was: a remark against the Inquisitor. She'd only just managed to eek herself back into his good graces — if it could even be called that — and had no desire to be relegated to the cold outskirts of the party again.

"Did I?" she responded instead. "Well, believe it or not, sometimes he acts even younger than he looks."

Fenris snorted.

"And he was clearly interested in you," Matthias chuckled softly. "But then who wouldn't be?"

"Mahanon casts a very wide net as far as his sexual interest is concerned. He'd bed the whole of Skyhold if it were physically possible. It's a wonder he's not riddled with diseases. Or maybe he is. I don't know…"

"Uh huh," Fenris grumbled. "So what else is going on there?"

Avery hesitated for a moment, knowing full well what Fenris was really asking. She'd have to construct her answer carefully if she was going to prevent a confrontation; Fenris would not be pleased to learn the details of Anon's treatment of her..

"He and I… haven't always seen eye to eye. On some… rather important things," she said eventually. "There have been some problems. Nothing that can be fixed now, though."

Fenris was quiet as they continued to walk, but Avery could feel the air around Fenris grow heavy. The sky ahead was emblazoned with the vivid pink and orange of sunset, though the dark shadows of Val Fermin's tallest buildings cut black chunks out of the horizon. His lack of follow up questioning was enough for her to know he was going to accept her vague response and drop it. She hooked her arm through his, still surprised at the new bulk she felt there, and squeezed it against her ribs.

"I miss you," she sighed, feeling all the concerns about Anon and Dorian fade into the distance behind her. She hoped they wouldn't eat all of dinner before she returned to camp.

"And I you," Fenris answered with the flash of a soft smile. "Is there really no possibility that you might return to Kirkwall? There is plenty of room in the mansion for all of us. We'll just take Bodahn and Sandal's old quarters, and you'll hardly know we're there. I know the city is full of difficult memories for you and the Knight-Ca… er, Commander. But it must be different after all this time."

"I am sure we'll visit, someday. We'll have too many friends there not to. But I'm afraid that until this matter of the breach and Corypheus is resolved, it's just not in the cards," she said.

"Have you learned yet how it is that he returned? We killed him, Hawke. You and I both stood over his corpse."

"No, we haven't." Avery sighed and gave a shrug, trying to banish the worry to the back of her mind. There'd be plenty of time in the Western Approach to mull over the details of that mystery.

"So you're accepting the mansion? You really should. I want you to. I've actually already written Aveline to inform her of what I offered, so whenever you make it back there she should just hand over the keys. I imagine you'll have quite a bit of work to do there, though. There are probably mountains of dust inside."

Fenris snorted. "Dust does not concern me."

"Right," Avery answered. "If crumbling walls and broken glass didn't bother you, why should dust?"

"Huh?" asked Matthias from behind.

"Perhaps he'll show you his old haunt, if it's even still standing. Based on the condition it was in when we left, that's probably unlikely."

"I'll take much better care of your home than I did that place, Hawke. I hope you're not concerned-"

" _Our_  home. And of course not, Fen. If I was worried about that I wouldn't have offered. Shall I also write to the Seneschal about the name?"

"That part… I am not certain about just yet. It is kind of you, but let me think on it a bit longer." Fenris said with a glance over his shoulder at Matthias.

Avery nodded, wondering if they might possibly have some plans of their own concerning that. "Alright," she laughed, "fair enough. Feel free to say no, of course."

"By the way, there is someone else who is probably very excited to see you." Fenris turned to look into the cluster of trees just beyond camp. Avery's breath caught in her throat: she had hardly stopped a moment to realize Brutus should have been there with them. Fenris gave a sharp whistle and within moments she heard a distant rustle of leaves, followed by the nearing thuds of the massive warhound that was immediately galloping toward them. Despite his age, the dog ran with the enthusiasm of a puppy. Tears sprang to Avery's eyes as she rushed forward to meet him. She dropped to her knees and watched the dog screech to a stop in front of her, barely doing so in time to prevent bowling the three of them over. With hot panting breaths, he set to work in washing her face in kisses. Brutus' whole body gyrated and wiggled, even after Avery had thrown her arms around the thick trunk of his neck and squeezed him into a tearful hug. Brutus whimpered and whined in her ear as he strained to keep licking her face, his paws prancing around under her grasp. Avery laughed through her tears with each terribly pungent breath of him.

"Someone hasn't been bathing you regularly, have they?"

"If the beast doesn't want to bathe then I am supposed to force him? And how do you propose I do that, Hawke?"

She shrugged. It was true that the dog weighed about twice what Fenris did.

"He'd just be filthy again in minutes, anyway," she agreed.

In the dimness of the night she could only just make out the peppering of white fur around the dog's muzzle. His long tongue hung out as he happily panted hot puffs of dog scented air, his open mouth curled up into an ecstatic smile. After a long moment spent scratching around his ears, neck and chest, and enjoying the happy grunts of the last surviving member of her original family, Avery stood again. The light was fading and Fenris and Matthias were becoming little more than shadows. With a crackle over her palm Avery brought up a sparking orb of light, casting a bluish glow over the quiet men. Toward the forest she walked, leading the small group to a fallen log where she sat with a happy sigh.

"So," she began, feeling her heart warm at the intimacy that radiated off them, despite how little they addressed each other. Brutus fell at her feet, rolling over on his back to offer his belly up for continued rubs. Avery happily acquiesced. "Tell me everything. How'd you meet, where've you been, what have you been up to?"

Xxxx

Avery sat in the darkness of the forest after Fenris, Matthias and Brutus reluctantly departed back to their inn at Val Fermin. She declined their invitation to join them for an evening in town, knowing that the morning would see another brutal pre-dawn departure before yet another in an endless line of hard day's journeys. A journey which would seem all the longer and more harsh for the certain lack of sleep that would result from accompanying them back to their Inn's tavern. What was left in the pit of her stomach was some awkward combination of elation and dread. The emotional high from the company of her beloved friend and the effusive affections of her loyal hound was now pointed toward a rapid descent into the pit of lonelinesst. Her stomach rumbled with hunger, but a cold despondency transformed her limbs into heavy stone, anchoring her to her spot among the trees and far from the cooling cauldron of the camp's stew.

She decided to give herself a few more minutes to muster up the strength for the return and to enjoy the silence before the inevitable barrage of questions from the camp. It was true that things there had improved over their weeks on the road, but it seemed more an unspoken agreement to try to keep things peaceful, and not a result of true bonds forged. A flaring of regret burned up from within at the thought that this might not be the only journey ahead of her. That she'd allowed herself to be brought into the fold of the Inquisition meant there could be many more such lonely travels before it was all over. She shook the thought away before it could ingratiate itself more deeply into her falling mood. Taking things one day at a time seemed the easier, happier route, regardless of how her mind wanted to fly down every pathway of upcoming drudgery.

Above the swaying treetops the stars twinkled brightly, the moon a low crescent that winked at her from between black columns of trees. She couldn't help but wonder if Cullen might be looking up into the sky that night, while standing alone on the stone battlements, or lying awake under his sheets. His letters had continued without pause, and had taken on what seemed to a be a note of forced cheerfulness. At each new camp waited a new letter, and each night as she ate her dinner she felt the longing hidden behind his beautifully penned words. She hadn't disguised it from her own letters to him however. Her responses held years worth of overdue confessions, an unchecked outpouring of every romantic or aroused thought that flitted through her mind as she wrote. She often cringed with embarrassment after the letter had been sealed and handed off to the camp courier, but tried to shrug it off. He deserved the same unfiltered access to her mind as he had so generously given her, and she knew at the very least it might just make him chuckle.

Deciding she might as well begin her walk back to camp, Avery called forth another orb of light that burst forth in a blaze of bluish purple, blotting out the darkness around her for several quiet seconds. But as her eyes adjusted, a movement from the corner of her vision caught her attention. It was out of sync with the gentle swaying of the forest, a slight shadow that seemed propelled by its own independent force. Avery froze and watched the spot intently, eventually extinguishing the light in her palm and trying to open her senses to the forest around her. Though she'd seen little beside the usual beasts of nature in her travels, she'd heard tales of such things as Sylvans and werewolves. For reasons unknown to her, she'd begun thinking more and more about such supernatural creatures as they got closer to the Western Approach. It had become a dreadful mysterious landscape that she couldn't help but imagine was full of supernatural beasts.

"Hello?" she called out on impulse, revealing herself against her better judgment.

"It's just me," came the response, as a slim shadow separated itself from the forest and moved closer. She brought the light back up to finish watching Anon approach. His eyes were as black as the darkness around him, and the complete silence with which he moved suddenly seemed eerie and unwelcome. How long had he been lurking nearby? Avery couldn't help but suspect that he might have been listening in on her and Fenris the whole time they'd been there.

"Don't worry, I just got here," he said, as if reading her mind. She had to force the snarl from her lips. His presumption that he knew what she was thinking was just as annoying as his presence, despite the fact that he had been correct.

"Your friends left already? It's a little impolite not to bring them back to camp and introduce them to everyone, isn't it?" he asked. Avery took a deep breath and unclenched her fists. Responding to him with the vitriol she suddenly felt would not be productive, and he would probably enjoy the knowledge that he could still rile her so easily anyway.

"They didn't have much time. As Fenris had already mentioned," she said instead, forcing her tone to sound light and neutral. "Besides he isn't really one for chitchat."

"He is stunning, isn't he?" Anon asked as he sat on the forest floor beside her. "Whoever painted him for those books should be hung."

Avery nodded quietly, as she waved her hand around the quietly vibrating orb of light. Below her was a carpet of pine needles, and she kept her eyes cast down as she picked at them with her free hand. It occurred to her that she didn't have to stay and endure his conversation; she was free to stand and go, but something kept her in place. A private conversation with Anon had been long overdue, even if it wasn't exactly one she was happy about having.

"There were rumors, years ago, that you and he were… together. It's a wonder that you didn't end up with him instead of Cullen. Is it because he prefers men?"

She hesitated for a moment, before finally deciding to answer honestly.

"Fenris and I were together for a while. We will always love each other in our way. But the Maker had other plans for us."

"And you were also with Anders?" he asked. Avery couldn't help but bristle at the personal nature of the questions, but the information he sought wasn't exactly a secret.

"You've read Varric's book, Anon. You remind me of this at every opportunity. So you already know the answer to that question."

"Yeah, but his book said nothing about Cullen. Or that guy that was with Fenris. He obviously left some things out," he said. Avery glanced up at Anon, whose eyes glittered in the flickering orblight. His expression seemed innocent but still Avery felt wary.

"I'm just… curious. It seems like it would have been an exciting place and time to live. You with all your followers… owning the city and bringing down the big crazy Knight-Commander. The tales really only mention you and Anders, with the occasional rumor about Fenris."

"Well a girl's got to have some things that are her own," Avery shrugged.

"What about Varric? Were you and him ever…?"

"No."

"Okay. Still, it's a wonder you ever had time to do all you did for Kirkwall if you were so busy hopping between-"

Avery interrupted with a laugh, this time letting her scorn ring through unabated.

"Stop right there. You weren't about to just make some bullshit judgment on my personal life just then, right? Mister lets-see-how-many-more-people-I-can-fuck-than-Bull? Right? There's no way you're that stupid, Mahanon." Avery shook her head in disbelief.

"Then again you probably only came out here to try to seduce Fenris, didn't you? You can't have me or Cullen, but shit, Fenris was in the book. You've probably got everyone single one of us from that book on your list. It's too bad Meredith's dead and Isabela disappeared, right? You know, you might have been successful with Merrill, at least until she drained every drop of blood from you after you broke her heart. And Aveline.." Avery laughed bitterly, "Aveline would crush you.  _Crush._  Tell me, have you tried to seduce Varric, too? Because no one has ever been able to steal him from Bianca. I'm pretty sure Isabela tried her damnedest on that, and if  _she_  couldn't do it, then you don't have a shot in the void."

"Did…um," Anon cleared his throat, "did  _you_  and Isabela…"

"No! Fuck, Mahanon!"

The silence of the forest rang loudly in Avery's ears. More words burned on her tongue, angry, acidic words, but she held them in check. She'd already unleashed more than she meant to. Anon only sat there quietly, picking at the pine needles the same as she had been. She blinked against the light in her palm, urging herself to calm down.

"What is this obsession of yours about, anyway?" she asked finally. "I don't understand what you want from me. One day we're sort of… friends, I guess. At the ball you're all handsy as asking to join me and Cullen… and then you hate me and want me out of Skyhold, want to use what Cullen I have to hurt him even more than you already have… I don't… I don't understand you."

Anon snorted. "I guess you forgot about getting all vibrate-y and homicidal then."

"I protect the people I love, Anon. That's just what I do. It's what I've always done. Or  _tried_  to do, anyway. And I wasn't truly homicidal. Angry, yes. Violent?… Perhaps. "

Anon shook his head, his lip curled in a snarl.

"Please. Like you wouldn't have fried me on the spot if Cullen hadn't silenced you. I felt your magic building up, I saw that look in your eyes, Hawke. You're… pretty damn scary sometimes, actually. I know I probably should have expected that. The books said you were a powerful mage, that you took down foes three times your size. But then I met you and… I don't know. You just seemed so  _normal_. Pretty and quiet, if a little wrapped up in your thing with Cullen. But then the way you came at me… I could see why people were scared of you. You're a killer." Anon laughed, "That's like, literally what you're  _known_  for."

"I was angry, of course I was. Making Cullen take lyrium…" Avery paused, swallowing down the constriction in her throat before opening her mouth to continue… "was cruel. And unnecessary. I still don't think you grasp what you've done to him, to  _us_. But would I have killed you over it?"

Anon clamped his mouth shut and tilted his head in a mocking gesture of giving her his full attention. Avery continued, "If I truly wanted you dead do you really think I wouldn't have already done it? I know where you sleep. I could have killed you any one of these nights we've spent in camp. Shit, I could have killed you right here, five minutes ago when you snuck up on me in the dark. Or now, this very second. And then just tell everyone we were attacked by a bear and we were both overpowered or something, and no one would be the wiser."

She paused a moment to let the words sink in. "But here's a little secret, Anon. I don't actually  _like_  killing people. I don't  _want_  to kill people. I never have. Even you."

"But yet… you would let your love for Cullen jeopardize everything we're trying to do to save the world from the breach, from Corypheus? Have you not seen how much better he's been on lyrium? If he fucked up again and derailed the Inquisition, inadvertently or not, do you know how many people would die? That's still killing. You're blinded, Hawke. Blinded and wrapped up in this love of yours, letting your emotions rule you, when there are bigger problems in the world than Cullen and lyrium and your relationship. We're trying to save the fucking  _world_."

Avery sighed, rolling her eyes.

"First of all, I don't believe you know me well enough to make any judgments on what I'm wrapped up in or blinded by. Secondly, I don't believe letting him stay off lyrium was truly jeopardizing anything—" she began, eliciting a derisive laugh from Anon that she ignored. "And finally, here's another secret, from one Champion to another: it's love, the  _people_  that you love that are what make the world worth saving. Without them, what's the point?"

Anon's mouth closed and his snarl fell away. Suddenly Avery felt as though she'd said something very cruel. A darkness flickered briefly in his eyes, a pang of hurt that reminded her of a truth that she already knew, but in her anger had ignored.

Anon truly believed he didn't have anyone. The girl he'd mentioned going back for, trying to win again, was gone. Along with everyone he used to know, his family, his friends. Of course he resented her and Cullen. And probably anyone else who seemed to flaunt what it was he didn't have.

A wash of something nurturing came over her, but Avery couldn't help but stiffen against it. It was the same thing she'd felt after dragging him out of the servant's kitchen in the Winter Palace, and after stroking his hair in the wagon on the way home. She shifted in place, struggling to regulate her desire to comfort him. As much as she believed it was likely a desperate loneliness and resentment that drove his more erratic behavior, her memories of how he'd ranted against her before the advisors surfaced and locked her into place, preventing her from offering any sympathetic gesture. Instead she took a breath, honing in on something she'd noticed during their countless days together.

"You are not without family, or people who care about you, you know. The Inquisition is like a family, is it not?" she asked gently, and then let out a soft laugh. "Complete with occasional backstabbing and petty arguments. It wouldn't be a family without that. And then there's Bull. He loves you. In his way."

Anon grimaced. "What? He does not."

"He does. I can see it. The things he does for you… he's always there, even when you're completely in the wrong. Always throwing himself in front of you during a fight. Protecting you."

"No. Bull doesn't… he's not like that."

This time Avery laughed. And he'd accused  _her_  of being blind.

"Why do you think that? Maybe he prefers something unconventional, but so what? It's obvious how much he cares."

"But he's never said anything like that…"

"Does it have to be said? Love is an action, Anon. It shouldn't  _have_  to be said, though I agree it is nice to hear it."

"Is that another secret from the wise Champion of Kirkwall?" he mocked, straightening his legs out to kick at a nearby rock.

"From my father, actually. That's what he always told me. 'Love is a verb, Avery.'" She mimed, lowering her voice to try to capture her father. She could still hear the words in her head, as clear as day. "It only truly exists in action.'"

Anon shook his head again and took a deep breath.

"I'm just saying… you might think you're alone, but you're not. "

Anon furrowed his brows and shook his head forcefully, "Easy for you to say. You tried to kill me, and yet everyone rallies around you…"

"Anon,  _I didn't—"_

A forceful rustling from a very close bush stopped Avery cold. When she turned back to look at Anon she was surprised to see him on his feet, standing with hands poised over his daggers. Avery dropped the orb of light, letting it extinguish itself as it fell away from her hand, and instinctively reached behind her for her staff, but found only air.

"Damn it," she breathed as she remembered that it was leaning against the wall of her tent back at camp.

There was no time to brace herself once she recognized the rapid sniffing and heavy chuffing sounds from just on the other side of the bush. As quickly as she realized what they were hearing, it was upon them, a great black mass of mossy smelling beast.

Despite the immediate danger, she couldn't help but roll her eyes. "Are you kidding me?" she asked to know one in particular. She'd just been joking about a damn bear.

Anon disappeared in the darkness, but she heard the grunts and whines from the bear that indicated his blades must have been connecting. Avery did the only thing she could do, tuning into the Fade and drawing forth a stream of crackling lightning, sending it in the general direction of the black mass, and concentrating hard to keep the bolts smack in the center of its bulk. The hazard of fighting alongside a rogue in the dark was the possibility of friendly fire, since their location was so frustratingly impossible to track. Avery took a deep breath and realized she'd just have to trust his perception and speed, and hope he knew well enough to stay out of her way.

The bear turned for a moment, its beady eyes shining in the purple flickering light of her magic and looking for the source of the bolts, and then a screech that curdled her blood erupted from the beast's throat. He whipped back around with a wild anger, his chuffs and grunts becoming the chilling growl of a monster that was newly enraged.

From what she could tell as the electric light faded away, its back was turned to her, the shadow elongating and growing tall as it apparently tried to stand up on its hind legs, each attempt interrupted by his unseen attacker. The cracks of breaking branches and quaking leaves filled the air as thick black arms flailed through the darkness, straining to deliver a powerful swipe to its target. Avery blinked through the blackness and fired off another quick bolt, just enough to flash light over the animal's position before drawing up a chill and casting forth a spray of ice, hoping to encase the animal enough to hold it into place so that Anon could make a killing blow. But the ice crackled and broke around the writhing creature, thundering to the ground in a cascade of solid blocks.

Changing tactics again, she molded the ice into spears, aiming them at the broad expanse of back and firing off with as much speed and power as she could muster. She heard the bear groan as the spears made impact, its body slowing as it continued to wrestle with its hidden opponent. Her hair was standing on end, a flood of ice-cold blood rushing through her veins as she sprinted around the bear, blinking desperately into the darkness in an attempt to locate Anon, to gage the strength left in the fighting animal.

She returned to her lightning, which coursed from her palms like columns of fire and there was the quickest flash of a blade, reflecting back a shimmer of bluish purple, followed by another screeching wail from the beast. If she could locate him, she could cast a barrier spell to protect him from damage. But based on what she could sense within the darkness, he was too close to the bear for the bear not to also receive the benefit of a barrier. Avery centered herself and opened up her thread to the fade, sucking from the well of power and feeding into a steady, unchanging stream that she hoped should be easy for Anon to avoid. She felt her hair take on a familiar lightness, dancing around her face in a limp halo, magnetized and standing out into the night around her, as along her body the electricity drew shivers that grew to an almost unbearable, roaring crescendo.

She held it for as long as she could, until she heard the scuffle before her slow, heard the growling of the beast being to wane, and then her link to the Fade was extinguished, its absence sucking all the air from her lungs as the ground came up to meet her body. For a moment she felt as though she might be floating through a black abyss, but slowly the swaying trees were above her again and the silence roared in her ears. What brought her fully back into herself was the high-pitched sound of wheezing, coming from a body very near by.

Despite the shakiness in her legs, she catapulted herself up and searched along the ground until her hands fell over a bony, wet leg. She could feel the lack of mana within her, and knew she would need what little trickled in to heal whatever wounds he'd sustained. But without light there was little else she could do, and she sighed as she searched her mind for a solution.

It came to her in a flash. Nearby were branches, dried leaves. They were approaching the edge of the desert and rain was scarce, the branches on the ground had to be dry enough to hold a fire. The minutes stretched long and eternal around her as she turned away from Anon, blocking out the sickening whine of his breaths and felt around the ground with still-burning palms for a branch. She'd heard that sound before, knew exactly what it meant. He'd taken a hit, one hard enough to damage a lung.

A branch was found and she quickly ignited a small flame using the little mana she could reach. The branch caught, but the fire didn't grow quickly as she'd hoped, flickering flaccidly and providing only a minimal glow to see by.

"Fuck!" she gasped. Even her potions pouch was back at camp, recently filled with eight sparkling vials of lyrium. She could run and fetch it, but the wheezing sounds beside her were growing more desperate by the second. Anon simply didn't have time. After wedging branch against the body of the bear so that the flame was climbing toward the spray of dried out leaves branching off the far end, Avery looked Anon over in the dim orange light. His body was bloodied, but his face looked fine. Black shiny eyes peered up at her from drooping lids. Clutched in one of his hands was a dagger, and Avery intinctively made a move for it, but the hand pulled away. She froze, incredulous.

"What in the Void is it you think I'm going to do?" she asked, not bothering to disguise her annoyance. His black eyes narrowed as he pulled the dagger further away from her. "Are you kidding me right now?"

A new attempt at a breath turned into a spasm, and his arm fell to the ground as he struggled against the blood filling his lungs. Avery pounced, surging over his body and grabbing his hand, prying his fingers away from the grip of his dagger. A new attempt at a cough seized his body and he lost control of his limbs. His hand fell away, and she repositioned herself over the bloody chaos.

She tried to block out the flashes of Kirkwall that wanted to invade her mind, the visions of blood, of the chorus of death around her as the ashes and burning debris fell from the sky, singing its macabre song as she danced from patient to patient, trying in vain to pinpoint the most urgent problems and fix what she could before the others ran out of time. The flames reached the leaves of the branch and flared brightly to life, and suddenly Avery could see clearly. She shut out the memories, the sounds of suffering the echoed behind Anon's voice and she unbuckled his leathers, then pulled up the bloody tatters of his tunic so that she could cut them fully away.

His torso was a pulpy mess, with blood darkening his skin and obscuring the source of the outpouring. Her eyes being inadequate she instead used her fingertips, gently pulling them over slick spill of his skin, searching for the softness that shouldn't exist.

She found it quickly, a wound calling itself to attention by an unnatural crunch and a new stiffening of Anon's body. It was exactly as she suspected: a rib had been pushed inward and was piercing deeply into a lung. With hurried hands she used the rags of his tunic to wipe away what blood she could, and took a breath in order to survey the bounds of the injury, finding two parallel lines carved deeply into his chest. The bear had landed a swipe, though apparently only two talons had connected. Still, it had been enough.

Knowing there was no other choice, she held the blade of the dagger over the fire for a moment and then carved a neat bow around the torn flesh that sat above the broken rib. It took eternal seconds of delicate cutting, of slipping shaky fingers under soft flesh and gently pushing under before the flap of skin was loosened and able to be pulled back enough to see. Slender yellowed bones shimmered in the firelight, and while at least three were cracked, only one was missing a piece. She set down the blade, and reached toward the gap where a piece of rib should have been, plunging her fingers into a gooey cavern of damaged lung, honing in on the jagged chunk of bone lodged deep inside the soft tissue. She gripped hard with her nails and pulled, realizing as it came free that the piece was not intact. It had splintered into two, one large shard and a one narrower spike. When both were gone, she kept her fingers on the spongy lung and closed her eyes, praying to the Maker to grant her the power to call forth some mana, despite her certainty that she should be depleted.

When it came, it only made her worry. The flesh below her fingertips began to mend, closing itself back into a whole organ while Avery searched Anon's face wildly for signs of life. Had she merely been sitting there longer than she thought? Had it been  _too_  long? She could feel the pulsing of his heart and knew his body lived, but he had not attempted a breath since before she'd delved into his wound.

Relief flooded through her when finally she heard another wheeze and his ribs began to rise. But they only got so far, before he groaned against the pain of the broken ribs. Still, her own breaths came laboredly, the tension of the moment growing tight in her jaw and pounding at her temples. She tried to force herself to relax as she waited. When the lung was whole again, she moved first to seal the cracks in the other ribs, and then held the largest of the two chunks in place within the gap, sending streams of healing through it. In her own bones she could feel the progress, the pieces reconnecting and cells clinging together and reworking into an undisturbed fabric. When it was done, she brought up the smaller sliver of rib bone, but felt her power growing low again, it never having fully refilled. There was still the matter of his flap of shredded skin, pulled away in bloody tatters from his rib cage. It would need considerable healing if it was going to be insulated against infection. Seeing no other choice she set down the second shard of bone and pulled his skin back into place, closing her eyes as she helped the flesh weave together, sending waves of energy over the rest of him, seeking out any missed areas of additional injury and finding nothing that couldn't wait, or be healed with a potion retrieved from camp.

When it was done, she felt empty, her body crashing back against the trunk of a tree behind her. Mana she shouldn't have had after the battle they'd waged had been available, and whether by the gift of the maker, or from an inner strength she hadn't had to draw on since Kirkwall, she did not know. Anon stirred before her, but she only saw black, heard the sounds of his movement as he pulled himself upright and readjusted his leathers, the rustling noise coming as though it was miles away. She forced her eyes open and took a deep breath. The bear was dead. Anon was fine. But fuck was she tired.

The trip back to camp almost seemed a dream. Anon slung her arm over his shoulder and all but carried her, though her feet remained on the ground. She stepped forward, once and then again, mimicking his footsteps even when they did little to help the cause. The distant glow of camplight grew nearer and nearer, until suddenly she was immersed in a bubble of activity. Bull was first to find them, picking her up as easily as if she was a doll and she let herself be carried to her tent. Her body was numbed, her mind reduced to only the most basic functions, but nothing was unpleasant. She simply felt a depth of exhaustion that inhibited conversation.

Anon lingered in her tent as she sat upon her bed and blinked down at her robes and debating internally whether she had the energy to pull them off, or if she should let herself sleep despite the bloodstains. She looked up at the slender elf, whose face seemed as wary as it had ever been, watching her closely even as he made no move to sit or speak. Avery couldn't help but laugh at the bloody disarray of his clothes, a deliriously tired laugh that only darkened his gaze.

"Sorry, but you look like shit," she said.

After a long moment, he looked down at himself and then shrugged, his lip curling into a smile.

"Yeah, well. You cut up my favorite tunic," he snorted, his face pale with shock despite his attempt at humor.

Avery sighed and fell back onto her pillow, the roof of her tent instantly swimming before her eyes as sleep reached for her.

"You're welcome. Now go away, I'm tired," she said quietly. And then remembered the gruesome souvenir still sitting tightly inside the ball of her fist. Had she really been holding it that whole time?

"No, wait," she said, reaching out a sticky red hand. "This is yours."

Anon took several tentative steps toward her, looking at her out the corner of his eye. She dropped the piece of bone into his palm, glancing at it to see what looked like the shape of a perfect spearhead.

"What is this?" he asked.

"Your rib. Or a piece of it anyway. Sorry, I had to choose between putting that back or putting your skin back."

Anon's other hand delved into his leathers, feeling against his torso in the place he'd been wounded. She saw him laugh quietly as his hands apparently found a notch that existed in a place it shouldn't have.

"Thanks, Hawke," he said solemnly.

She nodded through a yawn and let the heavy weights of her eyelids fall closed.

Xxxx

It took another week and a half before they found Stroud. He was waiting at a solitary camp, grumbling and kicking at a half-buried box when they approached. Every single surface was covered in a layer of grit, including the party and their horses. They'd long been reduced to what felt like walking corpses in the desert; shielding their faces from the whipping sand during the day, taking turns keeping watch against creatures of the night while others tried to sleep. Avery was expecting the Western Approach to be miserable, but it had gone beyond miserable, registering on a scale of horror she could barely fathom even as she lived in it. Conversation was clipped, reduced to its barest essentials to avoid inhaling mouthfuls of sandy air as they spoke. Seeking out a water source to bathe had become pointless, as moistened skin only made the sand stick faster, and then dry into a crust.

Stroud and the party exchanged quick greetings before he pointed toward the direction of the old Tevinter outpost. The party turned to follow the trajectory of his finger, keeping their heads down toward their tightly clutched reins as the horses performed the hard work of trudging step by step closer to their destination.

Night fell too soon, and another camp was reluctantly set up.

"Well, we should only have a few hour's walk in the morning," Anon said in a feeble attempt at optimism.

Nights in the desert were long and unexpectedly cold. The stars were brighter there than anywhere Avery had ever been, but they were still hard to see for the grains of sand that seemed to be permanently embedded under her eyelids. She slept fitfully, her mind a barren wasteland that was almost as empty as the Western Approach itself, save for the brief oasis of her memories. In the moments before sleep took her, she put herself back at Skyhold, back in Cullen's arms, back in their bed, in the tub, anywhere at all. Even to stand beside him on the battlements, or sit in the kitchens and watch his nimble hands as they transformed a simple staple into a sumptuous feast. But with rumors of darkspawn emerging at night from the big black canyon, sleep came in only four hour chunks. Most nights it seemed she'd only just closed her eyes when already it was her turn to take a security watch. Daydreams were cut short in order to take advantage of the few hours she had for sleep, while the watch itself was a tense stretch of uncertainty where there always seemed to be something moving in the shadows.

Finally, the morning came and the horses were loaded again. The hours crept by like drops of molasses, but eventually a notch on the horizon grew into a stone structure. Stroud snorted as he nodded toward it. "This is it," he barked, coughing against the dusty wind.

As they made their way closer the air around her changed, the veil stretching and thinning in a familiar way that sent her stomach roiling. There was an energy there, something dark and powerful and menacing nd it brought the sour tang of bile up her throat.

"Do you feel that?" she asked Dorian.

"I do. It's… a bit disconcerting, isn't it?" he answered with a grimace. Anon looked to her with concern. Since the night with the bear she noticed him listening intently when she spoke, occasionally offering her an awkward smile.

"If this is where the Wardens are, there is something very wrong with them."

Anon and Bull nodded, before the group turned back toward the crumbling outpost.

"Alright," Anon said authoritatively. "Everyone be on your guard."

He snapped his reins and pulled his horse ahead of them, leading them toward the small structure of stone.


	32. Chapter 32

Griffon Wing Keep was large and impressive, its sturdy walls and far reaching views a welcomed respite from the last few miserable camp sites. They were several days away from that Tevinter outpost that had revealed the full extent of the Warden's corruption, and over a week outside of the sheltering canyons that could at least cut off the sting of the sandy wind as they sat huddled in the dark. But even if the breeze reached the upper levels of the Keep, the sand rarely did, and now there was more than a thin sheet of canvas to protect those trying to sleep from the sharp claws of the roaming Quillbacks and Varghests.

Avery's heart was further lightened by the news that Cullen and his forces were on the way, intending to join up at the Keep before departing for Adamant fortress ahead of the Inquisitor, in the hopes of clearing out the area and breaking through the reinforced doors. Stroud was certain that's where the fleeing Wardens were heading, though it was unclear how long the Inquisition could wait before Erimond and Warden-Commander Clarel continued with their demon-binding ritual. Cullen's letters had assured her that they'd be traveling as quickly as their numbers would safely allow them to, and though Avery couldn't imagine any way that Cullen and a horde of soldiers could make the trip any more quickly than she and the others had, she knew that if such a way existed, Cullen would surely find it. But that still meant weeks of languishing in the Keep while everyone waited. Waited and hoped that when their army arrived, it wouldn't be too late.

Griffon Wing Keep was adorned with shiny statues of griffons, bore gleaming stone walls and floors polished as smooth as marble by the winds, and had a heart-stopping view down into the Abyssal Rift. The walls of the canyon were black, as though it had been coated with the blood of the earth when the second blight had ripped its way through the lands. Avery felt a chill crawl up her arms every time she looked too long or hard down into it. What would happen if one were to fall down between those charred walls? Would you just keep falling and falling until you were swallowed up into the oily blackness of the Void itself? Would you crash into a sea of darkspawn and find yourself ripped limb from limb by bloody claws and gnawing teeth? Or would your body break itself among the rocks before the evil had a chance to find you?

The sound of voices behind Avery shook her out of her daze, and she turned to see the arrival of some other Inquisition forces; men sent from nearby camps to assist in the conversion of the Keep now that the Venatori had been fully expunged. The men wore the same shellshocked expressions that Anon and the others had acquired during their weeks in the Western Approach, and surely were exponentially more relieved than they to finally have a solid foundation and unbreakable walls to house them. What kind of trouble did one have to get into to find oneself stationed in the arsehole of Thedas in the first place? To live in such a wasteland for months upon months must have been both a punishment and a proving ground; reserved for only the unluckiest of soldiers, yet testing their mettle and hardening them for success in battle on a daily basis. Bull and Anon were busy investigating why the water from the well carried such a repugnant stink, while Dorian assisted the Inquisitor's small party of guards with repairing damaged armor and clothing, so it was left to Avery alone to greet the men who stood inside the entry and shook the sand from their bodies the way a dog would shake off water.

"Greetings," she offered pleasantly to the lead officer, a short man with a series of dark facial tattoos that ran vertically over his nose and chin. He had a razor sharp gaze and raised his eyebrow at the sight of her. Whoever it was the man had been expecting to greet him, she clearly was not it.

"The Inquisitor should be back soon, he's just outside at the well. I'm surprised you didn't see him actually. There aren't many of us and we've only been here for about two days, so we haven't been able to make much progress yet on repairs and set up, but still it's a damn sight better than camping in the sand. I don't know how you men do it," she laughed quietly, casting off the critical gaze of the men before her. The dark haired leader didn't return the pleasantry. Avery stood aside and swept her arm toward the lower courtyard.

"Anyway, I'm Avery Hawke. If any of you need any healing I'd be happy to offer my services. Sounds like we'll all be sharing this home for a bit, so might as well get comfortable—"

Once her name was out, the stoic man's face softened dramatically. Avery sighed, passing her exhalation off as just a normal breath, but there was no mistaking his reaction to her name. And it likely wouldn't be the only one like it among the dozens of men shifting in place behind him. It always happened that way with those who'd read Varric's book. Avery braced herself for the inevitable barrage of questions and observations.  _You're really the Champion? But you're so… small? Did you really win a duel with the Arishok? Why did you leave Kirkwall? Have you been back? Where are all your friends? Was Meredith really as bad as everyone said?_ And everyone's most favorite questions of all:  _What happened to Anders? Why did you let him live?_

The man stepped beside her, standing out of the way before barking an order at the men waiting at his rear.

"Go on then. Take an hour for a rest and a bite to eat, but don't get too comfortable just yet," he said succinctly, his voice carrying the familiar Starkhaven brogue. "Once we've completed a full survey of the Keep you'll be issued your orders."

Avery sighed again; Kirkwall's Free Marcher neighbors all had the strongest opinions about how that whole mess in Kirkwall should have been carried out. Now on top of the usual questions would also come a list of ways that she, Aveline and the Viscount should have acted differently.  _Why did you all just band together? Meredith could have been stopped earlier on if you'd just been proactive. That sort of thing would never fly in Starkhaven. If you'd have asked for help we would have sent forces. A proper monarchy would have nipped this in the bud…_ followed by complaints about the mages who tried to take shelter in their cities after fleeing the fallen Circle. Avery resigned herself to enduring it, and only hoped the man would keep it short.

She watched the soldiers march in, every second ticking by in time with their jangly footsteps. Each passing body removed their helmets to reveal weathered skin, tanned into tight leather by an unmerciful sun and a constant whipping from the sandy wind. Some of the men were probably much younger than they looked, though their eyes were dull with weariness, their shoulders weighed down by months of remaining constantly on alert for the scores of monsters that lurked within this unforgiving land. When finally they had all passed, she turned toward the man beside her, bracing herself again for the flood of unoriginal questions and suggestions, but seeing instead an almost loopy looking smile. Her grimace instantly fell away, disarmed fully by the unexpected sweetness shining at her from under his Inquisition helmet.

"Lady Avery," came the brogue, "it is such a pleasure to finally meet you. I have heard so much of you from Cullen. I take it this means that he… he knows you are here, yes?"

Her mouth dropped open, the practiced response she already had loaded and ready to fire falling back into the recesses of her mind. Before she could collect her thoughts enough to answer, the man thrust his hand toward her.

"Forgive me, Serah. I am Knight-Captain Rylen," he said. "You probably don't know who I am, but—"

"Rylen!" Avery exclaimed, her body flooded with a sudden rush of excitement. She felt the wash of joy take over her face, pulling the dried skin of her cheeks into what her body remembered to be a smile. "Yes! I do! Of course I do!"

Ignoring his hand, she surged into a hug, realizing as she did so that she was completely ignoring military decorum while in view of this man's subordinates. She kept the hug brief, squeezing his armored shoulders quickly before pulling away again and clearing her throat. Belatedly, she took his hand for a proper introductory shake.

"I have been wanting to meet you for so long. And yes, Cullen knows I am here," she continued as she took the man in. Cullen's friend, his only real friend during all those hard times in Kirkwall. His only confidant, his only support system while going through one of the hardest times in his life. This man before her, this sharp eyed, unexpectedly short man had stepped in for Cullen when she had left him alone. The gratitude that flooded her as her mind processed the person before her seemed to halt the flow of her thoughts, making the answers to his few questions stutter as they formed in her throat. She took a deep breath and tried to collect herself.

"I know all about you. I am surprised that you know about me, actually. From everything else I know, he was pretty successful at keeping me a secret," Avery laughed, suddenly grateful for the stretch of time looming before them. She'd hoped to meet the man Cullen mentioned so often in his letter, but with weeks of waiting for Cullen ahead of them, she had a true opportunity to get to know him.

Rylen laughed, a deep boom that seemed to carry the Starkhaven signature even without the presence of words.

"He only told me what he had to. But I also overhead many things he didn't mean to say. You made quite an impression on the man. Things are… good with you two, then?" he asked, raising his brow again.

"Good… yes," Avery smiled, her fingers instinctively flitting to her amber ring. "We are married, in fact."

"Married!?" he exclaimed, bouncing on his heels as his smile spread into a contagious ray of sunshine. He clapped her on the shoulder with a surprising force, before catching himself with a sheepish grin.

"Apologies my lady… my men here are all, well, men. I've probably spent too much time outside of the company of the fairer sex…"

"Not a problem, Knight-Captain," she shrugged.

"Please, to you I'm just Rylen. I've, uh, got a bit of cleaning up to do myself, and then some work as I've informed the men. But join me for a pint later, will you? At the very least let me celebrate Cullen's marriage. I can't believe that blighter didn't invite me."

Avery nodded happily. A pint sounded good anyway. A pint with a man who could fill her in on some of her love's lost years was even better. Avery clapped her hands as they parted, but the spring in her step lingered.

 

It wasn't until the sun was setting that Rylen found her again, standing alone and staring over the battlement walls and away from the black canyon. She'd slowly begun to realize that at times it seemed as though the Abyssal Rift was watching her in return, though she shook it off as just a product of her imagination. Rylen appeared in his plainclothes, flagons in hand, rolling his shoulders and looking a man far different from the heavy, unsmiling solider who first entered the Keep doors. There was the inevitable small talk, questions about Starkhaven (he didn't miss it), Sebastian Vael (he knew  _of_  Sebastian, but then everyone in Starkhaven did), about the Templars (he didn't miss them either). As the beer made its way into her blood, a pang of concern sneaked into the back of her mind. Rylen hadn't known Avery had even gone to Skyhold. Which meant he also wouldn't know that Cullen had been made to take lyrium again; a fact that would have to come to light sooner or later, especially if she was going to ask him for advice on what to look out for the next time Cullen tried to quit. That knowledge became a growing weight hovering over her head, a vise squeezing at her temples that even the story of her and Cullen's impromptu wedding in the gardens couldn't subdue. It helped even less that Anon was gallivanting around the Keep courtyard just below them, reveling loudly in the telling of baudy jokes. The prospect of being the first one to tell Rylen brought her own reaction screeching to the forefront of her mind. He'd be upset for sure. Would he be as upset as she had been? Would he be  _more_  upset? He was the one with the firsthand knowledge of Cullen's suffering; he had helped to bear the brunt of concealing Cullen's withdrawal. The longer Avery sat with him the deeper the dread sank into her bones. She had no idea how to do it, when to do it. Should she wait until Anon was out of the Keep again? Should she make Anon explain it himself?

With the last sip of her ale she decided the first day they had met would not be the best time to drop such heavy news onto her new friend, though it was clear she would not be able to sit with the knowledge for very long.

 

In the end, it was Anon who made the decision. It had only been a few days, but the well had been cleared of bodies thrown there by the Venatori squatters and the water was flowing. A nearby tunnel that was leaking darkspawn had been handled. The Keep had seen numerous repairs and the days had quickly grown long and quiet as the men and Avery tried to pass the time. Avery was tending to a sprained wrist acquired by a guard during practice, while Rylen hovered nearby taking inventory of the weaponry when Anon marched in, holding an unfurled scroll before his eyes. He tossed a second to Avery and began to address no one in particular.

"I don't know how he did it but somehow Cullen estimates their arrival at about three weeks time. That's nearly half the time we made," he laughed, his eyes flitting to Avery. "I bet you're glad to hear that."

Avery nodded, pressing down the smile that threatened to take over her lips. She finished up the repairs on the man's wrist and stood, wiping her dusty hands on the skirt of her robe.

"Which means only three weeks to ensure that we have everything we need for our departure to Adamant. I am hoping we might sway the Wardens to see reason, but as long as Erimond is influencing the Warden-Commander…" Anon sighed. "I just don't know."

Anon furled the scroll and shoved it in a pocket, before turning to face Rylen. "Knight-Captain, I'd like a full inventory report, itemizing all our weapons and armor, along with a list of which men specialize in what weapons class, and who from the nearby camps can be ready to offer backup if it's needed. I know Cullen will have this well in hand, but I want him to have as little to do as possible when he arrives so we can get moving," Anon said, his face bearing the no-nonsense focus that always seemed to age him a decade.

Rylen nodded, answering with a quick "Ser."

"Make sure we have extra lyrium stores for Hawke and the healers, in case our men take a beating. Those Wardens are legendary for a reason, unfortunately. I'm sure Cullen will bring his own but he can't have known how long to expect to be here. See to it that he's stocked up when he arrives. What rations do you keep on hand for yourself?" he asked the Knight-Captain.

"We generally keep about two month's worth on hand at a time for myself and two other former Templars in my company. I'll have to send out right away for more if you expect to disperse that to the mages too. As you might expect, the delivery time out here in the Approach can be both lengthy and unpredictable. But the Commander shouldn't need any, Ser. So that's not a concern," Rylen answered.

Anon looked quickly to Avery before turning back to address Rylen.

"The Commander  _does_  need it, Knight-Captain," Anon informed him matter-of-factly, "He also hasn't mentioned how many other former Templars are accompanying him, or mages for that matter. I'm sure he'll be prepared, but since this is likely to be a full scale assault, it's better to be safe than sorry."

With an authoritative nod, Anon turned to walk away. Avery felt her blood freeze as Rylen turned to look at her, a question in his eyes that she hated having to answer. She gave a solemn shrug and felt the frown forming on her face; apparently all the confirmation he needed.

"He ordered that?" Rylen asked, flinging an accusatory finger toward Anon, who'd stopped at a nearby crafting table. The sharpness in Rylen's voice caught his attention and Anon's head turned, his dark brown eyes waiting, fixed hard onto Rylen as if anticipating a challenge. Rylen shifted on his feet, his mind visibly struggling to process his own reaction. Avery let out a deep exhale when Rylen turned abruptly and stalked away, the knuckles of his balled up fists flushing white.

Glancing back at Anon, she glimpsed the closing of a relieved sigh before he turned back to his table, absentmindedly fingering a few potion vials in an unsuccessful attempt to appear occupied. But the stiffness in his posture betrayed his true preoccupation, his set jaw and tightly drawn lips revealing his characteristic obstinacy.

Still, it had gone slightly better than she expected, though certainly there would be questions to answer later, ruffled feathers to soothe. She was about to turn and make her way back to her tent when Anon turned again, this time squaring his shoulders toward her with wide eyes fixated behind her. His hand flew to the hilt of his dagger as he took a step back, launching Avery's heart snugly into her throat. Rylen had changed his mind and was charging back. In a rush, Avery stepped before him, bringing him to a screeching halt.

"Don't,"she warned quietly. "Trust me, I had a similar reaction and he tried to ban me from Skyhold."

Rylen's nostril flared as his eyes flicked to Avery's. Her heart pounded hard against her breastbone, the tension in the air quickly growing electric around them.

"He'll kick you out of the Inquisition," she added.

With a sharp breath and a grumble, Rylen retreated again, this time disappearing down the stairs to the lower courtyard.

 

 

Avery was sitting next to the cooking station, situated on the highest floor of the Keep in order for the wind to carry away the smoke of the fire. She was reading the next in Cullen's letters when Anon found her again, dropping heavily onto the stone floor several feet away, but not speaking or even looking at her. She'd been soaking in the savory scents of stewing meats and toasting bread while taking in Cullen's long description of his first meeting with Cassandra. She was a rather pushy woman, he'd said, but somehow much more likable than he'd been expecting. Her questions about Avery had been satisfied easily, certainly helped due to the fact that Cullen's withdrawal symptoms had begun to fade into a new, more tolerable reality. There were only a dozen or so letters left, and Avery had begun to savor every one, dreading the day she'd finished the last. Of course she anticipated wider gaps between them as events in his life picked up speed and intensity. His decision to quit the Templars was imminent, and would then be followed by his move to Ferelden to join what would become the Inquisition. In truth, it still seemed so unlikely that he would continue to write her at all. But of course he wasn't really writing her for her. She'd become sort of a proxy, a way for Cullen to keep a journal without actually admitting to journaling, though he still peppered his letters with heartwarming declarations of love and concern for her. She remained thankful for every one of them, even more so now that the descriptions of his suffering had become less and less of the focus, and a long stretch of reading no longer left her in her own foul and tortured mood.

Anon sighed loudly, an obvious attempt to draw her attention away and bait her into asking what was wrong. Avery suppressed an eyeroll and ignored him.

"What are those papers that you're constantly reading?" he asked eventually. She glanced up at him, seeing the focused, dutiful Inquisitor who'd rattled off orders to Rylen replaced by a lanky elf kid with a skinny neck and mercilessly bitten fingernails. His long blonde hair was stringy with grease and soot, and his leathers had been discarded, leaving loose breeches and a sweat stained tunic open wide at the collar. The collarbones peeking out were surprisingly delicate. For the first time she noticed how much weight the kid had recently lost. The meals at camp had gotten noticeably worse the further they'd ventured into the Western Approach, but he always seemed to eat his fill anyway. She could only gather that he was infinitely more stressed than he'd ever let on. The impending battle with the Grey Wardens, legends of heroism whose sudden turn seemed almost too surreal to be believed, added to the pressure of "trying to save the world", as he'd put it, and the hardest, longest journeying they had done yet would definitely be enough to stress anyone out. Certainly a 20 year old orphan with a chip on one shoulder and the lives of friends and citizens on the other. Feeling another unwelcome pang of sympathy, she let her frown fall away and answered honestly.

"Letters from Cullen."

"Did he write you all those before we left?" he asked, shaking his head. "Shit, it's a wonder he got any work done."

"No, these were written over the past four years. After Kirkwall, and while we were apart. He didn't know where to send them, so he kept them. Until recently," she said. Anon's eyes widened, his adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed.

"Oh," he said. "That's… really sweet."

Avery nodded in agreement, and went back to reading. Or trying to look like she was reading. Really her eyes kept scanning over the same paragraph, absorbing the impact of his words again and again.

_Word has come from Orlais that the Circles of Magi have voted to fight for their independence. I fear that this means war, and yet another conflict that I want no hand in but am obliged to join. I have been praying all day to the Maker for your safety. I hope that you are somewhere far from the reach of Templars, as we are now under orders from the Seekers to automatically consider all mages as hostile combatants. Your friend Anders is probably rejoicing, where ever he is. Cassandra's search for answers has taken on a new urgency in light of this news. To that end, she is currently on the hunt for your dwarf friend._

Avery could recall precisely where she was when the news of that first disastrous conclave broke. Seekers and mages clashed at the White Spire, with a deadly battle waged at the behest of then Lord Seeker Lambert. Avery and Fenris were sitting in a tavern in Denerim, having discovered that laying low was much easier to do in a city teeming with others doing the same, rather than roaming from small town to small town where outsiders were scrutinized more closely. A bard had burst into the tavern and made her way to a cluster of robed figures in the back corner. News from there had spread quickly. The conclave bore a motion all were expecting: the Circle of Magi wanted a vote to separate from the Chantry. But the result had been wholesale slaughter.

Fenris had immediately cast aside his flagon of ale and returned to the bar for a bottle of whiskey, growling as he slammed it down on the table an then threw back his first shot.

"I hope that damned abomination is happy," he grumbled. "You should have killed him, Hawke.  _I_ should have killed him."

Avery took the bottle, too stunned to respond. There was no way this new violence would stay contained. The remains of the mages would flee, and then they would fight back. Of course they would.

"It wouldn't have changed anything," she said eventually, her voice coming out thin and tinny. Suddenly it seemed as though every thought and emotion she had was sucked out of her. She knew somewhere in her heart that the words she spoke were true, but still they seemed to ring false.

"It would have if we hadn't waited," he responded. "If we'd done it  _before_ …"

"Says the man who loved him," she answered mechanically.

Fenris snorted. "But first I hated him. I could have killed him then and stopped all of this."

"You think things would be any different, or even  _better_ if Meredith was still alive?" she asked finally, before throwing back another shot. "Anders might have gone about it the wrong way, but he was right that something had to be done. And it would have been, eventually. If it wasn't him, it would have been someone else."

It was true, she knew it in her gut. And now war was coming. It might even have already started.

Fenris didn't answer, only grabbed the whiskey bottle.

 

 

"You were right about Bull," Anon said, his words slicing through her thoughts. She shook away the memory and refocused her eyes. The sun was close to setting, the sky taking on an orange hue that would soon be cut into wavering chunks by the nightly auroras. Sometimes the auroras didn't even wait until night to begin. Rylen said they were actually always there, the sunlight just overpowered them. Tonight they would be bright. She could feel it.

"Bull?" Avery asked.

"Yes. What you said before. About… us."

Avery nodded, recalling the conversation they'd had just before the bear. No, not just any bear. A blighted  _Great_  bear. What it was doing wandering around at night no one knew, but at least it had seem to foster more kindness in Anon. She'd take that however it came.

"So you two are giving it a go, then? For real?" she asked.

Anon nodded. "Things haven't really changed much, except he calls me Kadan now. And the competition is over."

"The girls in Skyhold will probably celebrate that news," Avery laughed. Anon looked up in confusion.

"Why?"

"You were building yourself quite the reputation for being a dick," she continued. "You probably wouldn't have continued having much luck there anyway, from what I gathered."

Anon looked down at his knees and picked at a hole that was developing over a worn patch above his shin.

"Are you still not happy?" she asked.

"Well…. I mean. It's still nothing compared to you and…" He gestured to the letters.

"No, of course not. Relationships are all as different as the individuals within them. You and Bull will have to make your own thing."

"Well, anyway," he said, his voice taking a tone that signaled he no longer wanted to talk about it. "You were right. And it is nice. So, thanks."

Avery flashed him a quick smile, but it almost seemed traitorous to do so. Rylen's reaction to the news was still fresh in her mind, and it seemed to make her own reaction even fresher. The longer she thought on it, the more she concluded that Anon could only have done such a thing out of sheer ignorance. Not that he'd shown himself to be a particularly compassionate man when not under the scrutiny of outsider eyes. But that conclusion also only drove deeper her own feeling of failure. Ignorance could be rectified. If only she'd tried harder, and sooner.

"So Rylen wasn't happy," Anon said, clearly sensing the sudden shift in her mood.

"Of course he wasn't. Did you really expect that he would be?"

Anon snorted. "I expected that he might already have been filled in on that development."

Avery said nothing, but looked out into the fading sky. In the darkest stretch of horizon she could see the first flashes of green. Had Cullen ever seen an aurora? She closed her eyes and tried to soothe herself with the knowledge that in three weeks time he would be there with her. Right that very moment he was on his way, probably trotting up to a camp, sliding off his horse and making his way toward the smell of cooking food. Certainly one of the very same camps she'd slept in herself. What tent would be his? Was it possible he might sleep in the same cot that she had? Might he dream of her while laying in the same spot that she had lain? Or might he toss and turn, and end up waking numerous times in the night. One thing was certain: once he reached the Keep, and every night thereafter, he would sleep comfortably and well. She would make sure of it.

"You know, sometimes I feel like I'm the only one around here who has their head on straight," Anon laughed. Avery looked up at him, bewildered as to what he could possibly be referring to.

"Do you two really think it's better for him to suffer without lyrium? I mean, what's the big deal? Seriously? So he quit. He can quit again. And in the meantime he'll feel better and I won't have to worry about him. Really you should be  _thanking_  me—"

Before he could say another word, Avery was on her feet, staring down at him, trying to blink through the seething wall of red that had filled her thoughts.

"Ignorance," she confirmed with a sneer, more a confirmation to herself than to him. "Sheer, bloody ignorance. That's what all that talk is. Do they not educate you out in your little forest villages? Or is it the fact that we're shems and what we live through just doesn't matter to you? You poor persecuted elves. Sure you've had it rough, but does that give you license to laugh at the suffering of others? Really?"

She stopped to take a breath, feeling her heart race furiously under her temples.

"Because if you knew anything at all, you'd know that lyrium not only completely steals Templars' minds, but turns them into slaves. Slaves for a Chantry that can be just as corrupt and bloodthirsty as anyone, who have no respect for those at the other end of the leash. You know that other Templars who have tried what Cullen accomplished either died or went insane? Quitting lyrium wasn't supposed to be a possibility, but he did it! He did something no Templar had ever successfully done before, and you  _ruined_  it. And the withdrawals he experienced…" she stopped, floundering for a starting point, her mind clouded by the rage that boiled behind her eyes. Rylen would probably be the better one to explain anyway. He'd seen it firsthand, he'd been there through it all. But then even Anon had also seen the symptoms, seen Cullen when he was disoriented or crippled with a headache, at least that's what he said. He heard Cullen wake the camp during a powerful nightmare, and destroy a set of glass doors before collapsing in the grass in the middle of the night. Still, Anon had chosen only to view the suffering from the outside. Never once had he apparently tried to sprout some bloody empathy, or get into Cullen's head and see it from his shoes. Avery had an option at her fingertips that might help him do just that, and though Cullen probably wouldn't approve, she saw no other way.

"You know what?" she asked angrily as she began to rifle through the portfolio, selecting all the worst letters during the brunt of Cullen's withdrawal, starting at the very beginning, but not so far back as to give him too intimate a peek into Cullen's heart. With a snap she produced about two dozen pages, the blackest one staring at her from the center.

"You want to know why Rylen's angry? Why I am angry? Cullen is going to have to live through all of this again, because of you. Our friend, my husband, the person I love more than anything in this whole fucking world is now sentenced to even more incredible suffering that he doesn't deserve. Because of you. Because unlike the rest of the bloody Inquisition, who you know bloody well all supported Cullen's decision, you just couldn't let him win the hardest battle of his life. You want to know what you have done to Cullen, done to me? Read. Educate yourself."

She thrust the pages into his hand, and watched as his skinny fingers closed around them. His face was pale with shock but she saw none of the indignancy there that she expected to see. Somewhere underneath the rage was the spark of hope that he might be made to understand after all. It wouldn't change anything, other than to make him realize exactly what he had done.

"And don't you tell Cullen I let you read those letters, Anon," she added before turning to stomp away. "Don't you tell him." She almost included a warning or a threat, but bit her tongue.

The green flashes of aurora had spread across the sky by the time she located her tent, but she didn't linger and watch it. Instead she dove into the solitude of her tent and dropped the portolio on her bed, pacing worriedly for a time, wondering if she had done the right thing. Had she betrayed Cullen's trust? That was mostly supposed to be for his benefit, so that the Inquisitor who brought his directives down on Cullen's head might finally gain a little bit of insight in to the suffering he caused. Would Anon tell him? Anon was, if nothing else, emotionally reactive and unpredictable. All it took was another incident of pissing him off or scaring him and who knows what he might tell. He might tell Cullen he'd read the letters, or he might tell others of the letters' contents. But he didn't have all of them. He had nothing incriminating, nothing terribly intimate, nothing other than heartfelt words from a struggling man. The truth shouldn't be so scary, should it? Had Cullen ever specifically asked her not to share them? No, he hadn't, but that didn't really matter. She knew. She wouldn't appreciate anyone else divulging her secrets without her consent, and so it logically followed that she shouldn't do the same to others. And yet Varric had written his book, and that wasn't the end of the world. But it was done now. Like so many other things. She could march back and demand he hand over the letters, explain that she thought better of it, and then sit down and try to just explain what she wanted him to know. But that too didn't feel right.

No, she decided as she nodded her head to an empty tent. He needed to know. She could only hope that if it ever came to light, Cullen would understand.

She sighed and took a long drink from a canteen of water, before shrugging off the tension collected in her shoulders. She needed to explain some things to Rylen, and she needed to ask for his help. Everything he knew about helping Cullen cope with the withdrawal needed to be recorded, filed away for the day that she would need it. She picked up several sheets of stationery and a quill, and departed to go find him.

 

The three weeks passed slowly. Anon finished the letters only days before Cullen was set to arrive, and brought them to her tent one morning as she kicked at her tattered clothes and cursed at the lack of supplies available out in the middle of the Approach. When Cullen arrived she wanted to look her best; wanted to wear something fresh and clean. She didn't want to stink as though she'd been languishing in a desert for months with only occasional opportunities to bathe, despite the fact that it was the truth and one Cullen was surely expecting anyway.

But still each morning she'd frown at herself in her small mirror. Her hair needed to be washed, her nails needed to be trimmed and everything felt grimy, as though sand had worked its way inside the very fibers of her clothing, never to be extracted again no matter how hard she scrubbed. Anon called into the tent quietly, and though she stood in only a long night shirt she allowed him to enter before dropping onto her cot and waiting for him to speak.

From behind his back he produced the pages and held them toward her.

"Don't worry, I won't tell Cullen," he said. Avery let out a breath that she felt like she'd been holding for weeks. In truth, she'd worried that he might have forgotten about them. Maybe he'd set them somewhere inside the mess of his own quarters and lost track of where they were. Maybe he decided it wasn't important, or he didn't care or he didn't want to know. There was so little to do while they waited in the Griffon's Wing Keep that it seemed unlikely, but Anon always seemed to manage to find something to do. If it wasn't hunting quillbacks or holing up in his tent with Bull, it was Wicked Grace with the guards. But looking up into his solemn face she realized it said everything she needed to see: he had read the letters. And he had possibly even begun to understand.

But he said nothing. After she replaced the pages back into the portfolio Anon turned to leave, stopping for just a moment before sliding through the tent flaps.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly. And then he was gone.

 

Xxx

 

Watching Cullen and his men approach the Keep was agony. The group of dark bodies emerged from around a distant hill, and then slowly made their way for the Keep, dragging along giant contraptions made for busting walls and breaking open doors. As the distant shapes grew closer she felt the hairs on her arms rise. What was approaching them was a true army, fully and impressively prepared for war. If ever there was a sight that proved Cullen's worth to the Inquisition it was the orderly marching of over a hundred men, looking as though they'd just departed the Skyhold gates. Their armor gleaming under the desert sun, their backs straight, their formation perfect. Avery bounced on her toes, mentally urging them to move faster. It would be silly of her to run out of the front gate and across the sands to greet Cullen, wouldn't it? Besides after nearly a month there she knew the appearance of distance in the desert was deceptive. Things that looked close were actually prohibitively far away. He'd have to be nearly at the gate before she could get a true sense of the distance between them. And even then, what? He would bring his entire army to a halt in order to greet his wife with a kiss?'

Actually, she realized with a laugh, he probably would. That was enough to help her decide to stay put. She would refrain from interfering with his marvelous procession, and let Ser Rylen and the others stationed there at the Keep witness Cullen and his men in all their battle-ready glory. Besides, she didn't want to be  _that_  wife. The wife who gets in the way and makes a nuisance of herself. She would wait patiently until the horses had been handed off and the orders had been given, until Cullen had breached the walls of the Keep and been apprised of the recent news. But Maker, she was anxious. She'd chosen the cleanest of her robes, and given herself as good of a bodily scrub as she could manage using the basin of water in her tent and a clean wash cloth. She stared at herself in the mirror and fluffed up her lanky black hair. It hung straight and shiny, and one of the benefits of the dark color seemed to be its ability to hide its true condition. Unlike Anon's blonde locks which had seemed to darken several shades since they'd arrived at the Keep. One might expect it to grow light with the exposure it had to the sun, but that would only work if the sun could penetrate through the nearly permanent patina of grime and sand.

Finally she heard the creaking of the outer gates opening. She stood near Rylen who flashed her a knowing grin, and heard the chaos of footsteps further away from the gate where men were dismounting horses and stretching creaky backs. After what felt like an eternity, the sun beamed through the opening in the door, growing brighter and brighter still as the gap grew in width. The sun reflected off the sand outside with a blinding intensity, blotting out the faces of the first to enter. She hardly saw a thing as she squinted away from the light, but heard a set of footsteps suddenly quicken, heard Rylen utter the magic word: "Commander," and then she felt the arms, the body, the lips smashing into hers. She closed her eyes against the sun, but somehow seemed to see him anyway. His lips were dry, his cheek rough with sand and stubble, his hair knotted and wild, his breath hot as he panted between kisses. In an instant it no longer mattered that her hair was greasy or her dress was worn thin and dull from over wearing. It didn't matter that the very next morning they would be departing bright and early to try to save the Grey Wardens from themselves, and likely losing many lives in the effort. It didn't matter that Rylen and Anon could barely stand to be within ten feet of each other without making everyone else nearby uncomfortable, and that she'd somehow found herself in the awkward position of mediator. All that mattered was that any distance between her and Cullen no longer existed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: some Cullen cuddles followed by Adamant and the dreaded Fade.


	33. Chapter 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jeez, this got long. I don't know how I managed that considering I had finals last week and this pregnancy is completely exhausting me. But, hopefully I didn't make it unnecessarily long winded!

Avery pulled away from the kiss after the third time Rylen had cleared his throat, but Cullen's arm remained tight around her waist, holding her body firmly against his. The doors swung closed, restoring the shade to the entryway and allowing her eyes to finally readjust. Cullen's face appeared like a beacon among the blur, his curvaceous lips drawn into a smile, his hair a wind-blown halo of curls around the beautiful planes and angles of his face. She felt almost instantly dumbfounded, lulled into a blissfully catatonic state by the warmth beaming from the caramel pools of his eyes.

"Hello wife," he said finally.

"Hey there, husband," she smiled. "Glad you could finally join the party."

There was a moment of silence as Avery leaned her body fully against him, her fingertips instinctively searching out the bottom of the metal armor at his back, pressing through drapes of red velvet to hone in on the warmth beneath. Her eyes danced over every sorely missed detail of his face and neck. His lips were looming so close she found herself claiming then again, lingering for a moment to brush against the wind-blown dryness of his skin. She sighed happily before Rylen broke through the silence, apparently deciding not to bother waiting any longer for them to finish.

"We've all been very busy with preparations Commander," Rylen said, but Cullen continued to beam down at Avery. "We have inventory reports, and some messages from some of Leliana's people about the status of Adamant, but you'll find there's not much else left to do. We are ready to depart at your command."

Cullen nodded, his lip curling into a pleased half smile before he tore his gaze away to acknowledge Rylen. He gave Avery a quick squeeze and then slipped out of her grasp, approaching Rylen to clap him on the shoulder.

"Very good. Barring any unexpected news, we should be all set for a morning departure,"Cullen responded. "Anyway, how've you been Knight-Captain? I'm shocked you haven't put in a request for a transfer yet."

Rylen laughed, "Oh I have. Dozens of them. Those damned birds are probably getting eaten by Varghests before they even reach the canyon."

Cullen laughed heartily.

"I take it you've met the missus?" Cullen nodded toward Avery, his eyes stopping at hers and warming her cheeks. He was as stunning as she remembered: tall and confident, a picture of strength and vitality even despite the return of a purplish, sleep deprived blush around his eyes. She supposed she shouldn't be surprised to see it. They would have had some very long days out in the Approach in order to make it to the Keep as quickly as they had. Even still, he was a soul-crushingly beautiful sight. It made her heart flutter to remind herself that this man was hers for the rest of their lives.

Rylen nodded as he glanced at her, laughing quietly at the two of them.

"You owe me a pint or two for that, Ser. You know I would have loved to get out of this shithole and celebrate my mate's nuptials," he teased, knocking a brotherly blow onto Cullen's shoulder. She'd never seen such informal conversation between Cullen and any of his men, but of course Rylen wasn't just any man.

"So, uh…" Rylen began, his cheeks flushing pink for one curious moment. He looked toward the doors, seeming to be listening for something. Raucous laughter and the clanging of metal sounded off from the other side where the army was still dismounting and taking stock of their gear. "Who all'd you bring out here?"

Cullen snorted a laugh, his half smile growing wider and more amused.

"Cassandra stayed at Skyhold," he answered. "I asked her to come along but she had some things there she needed to keep an eye on."

Rylen nodded wistfully before rolling his shoulders back and shrugging it off, his cheeks blushing even more brightly..

"Ah well," he sighed wistfully. "Anyway. It's good to see you Ser. I'll go fetch those reports."

After Rylen returned with a stack of documents, Avery excused herself. She was clearly too much of a distraction to linger around while they talked. Cullen couldn't seem to focus on the scrolls in front him, his eyes regularly flitting up to meet hers, his hand searching for hers to offer regular affectionate squeezes. Avery soaked it all in with a chest practically bursting with glee, but once it became apparent that his discussions with Rylen were being slowed to crawl she ducked out, figuring they could conclude their business in a much more timely manner if she wasn't hovering nearby. The little bit of conversation they'd had revealed that Wardens had been streaming into Adamant fortress in greater numbers over the past few days. Leliana's people had been tailing Warden-Commander Clarel for weeks, and her arrival at Adamant was imminent. Cullen had arrived none too soon. It was a wonder that the Wardens and the Inquisition soldiers hadn't already crossed paths somewhere in the dregs of the Approach.

Already the light of the day was fading, the sun sinking quickly toward the horizon and sapping the blue from the sky overhead. She'd first tried to sit and watch the new soldiers acquaint themselves with the Keep, but found that she couldn't stop fidgeting, and sitting still was proving to be a chore. Next she sought out a bottle of whiskey, looking for a shot to calm her nerves, but quickly thought better of it. Whenever Cullen finished with Commander business he would find her again, and she wanted to be lucid for every precious moment they had left before the upcoming fight. Still, she eventually opted for a glass of wine, taking it up to the battlements to look over the vista beyond the Keep walls. Somewhere in the pit of her stomach churned of a nest of quaking butterflies, quietly whispering about all the things that could go wrong during their invasion of Adamant. Prospects of battles never bothered her much when it was just her, Anon and some of the others from the Inquisition. But to know that Cullen would be there fighting as well, as competent and formidable as he was, still raised a prickle of anxiety up her arms. All the moments she'd spent admiring the delicacies of his body, of feeling the vulnerability of his life pulsing beneath her touch in their private moments came crashing to the forefront of her mind. Sure, he'd be in armor, he could expertly wield a blade and shield, and he'd be surrounded by fellow warriors who would no doubt try to protect their Commander. And, sure, he was well acquainted with the perils and pitfalls of a large scale armed assault, despite the fact that they'd be feeling their way through a mostly unmapped fortress. But for all his strength and skills, all it would take was one lucky blade hitting just the right spot, and his life could be drained and gone in the blink of an eye.

What if things went wrong and they got separated? What if just such a lucky strike befell him and she couldn't get to him in time to mend the wound? She recalled having similar worries when fighting alongside Fenris and Anders, and also had it pointed out by both Varric and Isabela that she became noticeably more ruthless in battle when she was in love. It was in part because of that ruthlessness that both Fenris and Anders still lived. Or one of them did, at least.

She shuddered as she drained her glass of wine and stared down into the black Abyssal rift. There was no telling what would happen the next day. Maybe the Wardens could be convinced not to go through with their abhorrent plan. A demon army controlled by Corypheus himself would mean a betrayal of everything the Wardens were supposed to stand for. As well as a turn in the tide of the whole war, and one that the world simply couldn't afford. Surely they could be made to see that? Was their fear so strong as to cloud over that logic entirely? Avery sighed. That they were already as far gone as they were seemed to be its own answer.

She almost felt Cullen approaching, even before she heard the familiar rhythm of his footsteps as he climbed the nearby stairs. He had with him a plate of food, piled high with roasted meats and stewed potatoes, a chunk of bread that had been liberally buttered and in the other hand, two flagons filled to the brim with ale. He'd apparently seen her standing there, and now that she was face to face with the steaming plate of fragrant food, she heard her stomach growl in anticipation.

"Don't get too excited. This isn't all for you," he teased as he stopped only inches away. He angled his face in for a quick but deep kiss and handed off a flagon before sliding down against the battlement wall. He held the plate between them and Avery collapsed beside him, eying the feast before digging straight in. It seemed that even before she'd registered the full extent of her hunger, her belly was suddenly stuffed full and they were groaning in discomfort while staring down at an empty plate.

She looked up to see the first flashes of green stream across the sky, chased slowly by a creeping bloom of dark grey clouds. In the far distance flickered a bolt of lightning, but any storm it would bring was at least an hour or two away, and a single bolt by itself wasn't particularly worrisome. With a sigh she nestled into the nook of Cullen's arm, and their faces turned upward to take in the aurora's kaleidoscopic display.

Cullen sighed happily as he pulled her close, pressing repeated kisses into her hair and temple.

"How in the Void did you manage to get here so quickly?" Avery asked finally, breaking the comfortable silence. "It took us more than twice as long as you, and we weren't dragging along trebuchets and a giant battering ram. Maker I hope we take your route home because I don't think I can stomach another two and half months on the road again. At least not so soon."

"Well, we didn't do it alone. Some of the Leliana's people rode ahead to scout out the most efficient routes and buy us passage over private lands," Cullen said, his smoky voice cooing softly into her ear. "But really I was rushing everybody through because I couldn't wait to get to you."

Avery turned to look up at him. The flashes of green streaking through the violet of the sky cast a light bright enough to be reflected off the curves of his face. But still the darkness around his eyes stood out. She ran a fingertip lightly over the soft skin below his lids.

"Is that why you haven't been sleeping? Riding hard late into the night?"

Cullen shrugged slightly as he turned to kiss her hand.

"I suppose that's part of it," he said simply. Avery continued to look at him, waiting for him to continue. After a moment he relented.

"The dreams have returned again. I knew they would of course. But there was already so little time to sleep out on the road," he said. Avery frowned. Of course. He always had nightmares back in Kirkwall, and he'd been on lyrium then too. A very high dose of it, in fact. It was clearly unrealistic to hope that lyrium might be a cure for that this time around. But then the nightmares weren't a product of the lyrium anyway, not at their core. Avery caressed through his hair. The blonde curls were dry and tangled, blown into knots by day after day of riding against the wind. She nestled in even closer, and moved to unfasten the leather bindings of his chest plate. In moments it was sliding off of him and she could finally press herself against the unobstructed warmth of his chest. His heartbeat pounded slow and steady below his breast, his breath coming in shallow waves. An ache of love filled her body, flooding through her gut and twisting up in pangs of concern.

"I'm sorry the lyrium isn't helping with that anymore," she said quietly.

Cullen sighed. "I expected it. It was the same after I first took my vows. For a while at first you can feel it inside you, always there, humming away in your blood. But eventually your body acclimates. It no longer provides a high, only… allows you to feel normal. Nightmares, unfortunately, are a part of my normal. As well as…"

"What?"

"Well, flashbacks, I guess. Like nightmares when I'm awake. Less when you're around. Never, actually, when you're around," Cullen said softly as he picked a tangle out of her hair.

Avery felt her felt her face screw into a scowl and she dropped her head against his chest. Had he ever mentioned those before? Even that, she supposed, she should have expected somehow. The effects of severe trauma don't usually confine themselves strictly to the nighttime hours.

"You never told me about those," she said.

Cullen shrugged. "It's not something that's easy to talk about. Especially with you," he said. And then took a breath and continued quickly. "I mean, not that I don't want to talk to you. I tell you more than I've ever told anyone I just, uh, I guess I worry… I don't want you to think I'm…"

Avery looked up into his face again, waiting. "Think you're what?"

He sighed and looked away, his eyes reflecting the shine of the green as he looked up into the sky.

"I don't know. I worry that… you might get tired of constantly dealing with my problems. I hate to complain about it. I can't stand to hear myself  _whine_. It's not anyone else's problem. I shouldn't be putting it all on anyone else. Even you.  _Especially_  you."

Her heart throbbed harder with each word out of his mouth.

"Love, we've talked about this, haven't we?" she said gently as she stroked his cheek. She recalled the conversation vividly, sitting in his lap at his desk in his office.  _I'm not afraid of your dark places._

"Your problems are my problems," she said. "I  _love_  you. If talking about it helps sometimes, then please. Please, Cullen, talk to me."

Cullen's head turned, his eyes searching her face in the growing dark. He rested his forehead against hers before exhaling a deep breath. "You shouldn't see that place. The place I was held, the things I saw happen to my friends, the things Uldred said…"

"If you think it would help, Cullen… then take me there. Maybe if you talk about it, work through it with me, then the dreams might… lessen, a bit? Lyrium or no," she said."If not now, or soon, then whenever you're ready. I'm not going anywhere."

"I know," Cullen said as he squeezed her closer still. Avery folded her arms against her chest and laid firmly against him, soaking up his warmth in the cooling evening air, reveling in the even beating of his heart. She still had to remind herself that he was actually there. She was actually practically in his lap, actually hearing him speak. So many days upon days, endless sleepless nights of replaying their moments together in her mind, was almost enough to trick her psyche into thinking this was yet another in an endless stream of daydreams. But there he truly was, as burdened and beautiful as ever. She pressed her forehead against the bare skin of his throat, feeling the tapping of his jugular come but a half second after the muscle contracting in his chest.

"I will," he said finally. "I won't know if it will help unless I try, right? But not tonight. Tonight I just want to enjoy being with my love again. We can visit the ghosts that haunt my nightmares another night," he said. "Though… funnily enough…"

The quiet sound of his laugh was unexpected. Avery pulled her head away and looked up into his eyes, seeing the moonlight carve shadows around the bone structure of his face, highlighting his perfect symmetry and proportions. Looking at him made her stomach suddenly go from churning with worry to swarming with excited butterflies. It seemed the months apart had reset her heart's familiarity with him, making even the simple act of looking at his face feel brand new. She couldn't get enough.

"Well, I am sure you've gathered that it was the Hero of Ferelden who… finally took down Uldred and freed me from that prison that I was kept in," he asked. The words triggered an image that conjured up a confusion of emotions. His tone was light, but the words themselves made her murderously angry. Kept inside a prison by a fucking monster of a mage. She almost wished the Hero hadn't killed Uldred, so that she could have the satisfaction of doing it herself. She swallowed down the kneejerk reaction, her mind reeling from the rocky sea of emotions that that carried her through the day, that continued to upend her joy.

"You know…" she sighed as she tried to block everything but the story Cullen was now telling. It wouldn't do to taint their night by dwelling on their pains. Not when being together again was supposed to be joyous. "I know that the Hero went to Kinloch Hold just after its fall," she said, realizing as she spoke that she'd never quite considered whom to credit for Cullen's survival. She figured she must have always assumed that Cullen had somehow found a way to save himself. "But… I never made the connection to the Hero before, I guess."

"Well, he did. And the mage we met at the Winter Palace made it to Skyhold shortly before we departed. And she has a child with her. The  _Hero's_ child."

"What?" Avery breathed. Part of her was instantly excited. "As in, that mage is the Hero's…what, lover? Wife?"

"Something like that, apparently," Cullen said.

"Wow. Does that mean that the Hero might come to Skyhold, too?"

"No," he said, his voice holding a note of disappointment. "I asked the same question but he's apparently very far away, on his own personal mission. She's sent along some letters to him though, to see if he has any advice for us. I too have sent along a… more personal message. A thank you, I guess. Everything that happened in the tower afterward was… I don't know. I wasn't sure then what was real. I'd just spent so long with Uldred inside my mind… I was holding on by a thread by the time they came along. I don't recall if I thanked him at all then."

Avery nodded, trying to to press down the growing ache around her heart. There would be time for that when he was ready to share details. And she would have to be strong for him. She sighed sadly and ran her fingertip gently under the collar of his tunic. The heat radiating off his bare skin took her mind to yet another new place. Sometime soon, once they'd had their fill of the night and their bellies were no longer stuffed to the point of discomfort, she would be removing all these clothes and they would make love again. She would remind him in no uncertain terms that his life was different now. It was full of tenderness and love, and he would never need to suffer alone again. The thought immediately got her blood flowing fast and hot. She would light all the lanterns in the tent and slowly reacquaint herself with every single inch of her husband's body. But they'd get to that point soon enough.

"What was he like?" she asked after a heavy swallow. "The Hero?"

"He was… I mean, I think I am remembering him correctly, but... Well, he was very tall, had a beard and these intense, piercing green eyes. He seemed very, like,  _serene_. Like he had all the confidence in the world and he knew there was nothing out there that he couldn't handle. That confidence was well-earned, clearly. But we didn't have long to chat or anything. He went into the room that Uldred was in and all the horrible sounds I'd been listening to for… however long that was… they all stopped. And then there were some crashes, and the magic walls around me fell. Eventually him and the others came back out covered in blood, but just as calm as you please. Nothing was left alive behind them."

"The others? Who was with him?" Avery asked, her mind frozen in awe as she imagined the scene.

"Well the King for starters, back before he was the King," Cullen said.

"King Alistair!?" Avery asked excitedly. She knew the King was a Grey Warden, and she knew he'd been with the Hero when he'd slain the archdemon, but she'd certainly never pictured him there with Cullen at Kinloch Hold.

"The very same. Also Wynne. She was one of the older mages from the tower. I knew her well, actually. She had always been a good influence on the other mages, working hard to foster understanding and peace between them and us. I wasn't surprised at all that she had made it through the chaos, nor that she had stayed behind to try to save whomever she could. That was just like her, really. My understanding is that she remained with the Hero and his crew for quite a long time after that. And then there was this blonde elf, with long hair and tattoos on his face."

"Hm, that sounds familiar," Avery snorted.

"Yes, but he was much shorter than Mahanon. And stockier and definitely older. He had an Antivan accent, but mostly stayed quiet. He never spoke to me."

"Wow," Avery gasped. She could picture the group in her mind, clearing the tower of demons and blood mages. She couldn't help but wonder if she could send her own thank you letter to the Hero. Or maybe even the King.

"I guess the King should be hearing the Calling too then, right? Do you think he's panicking like the rest of the Wardens are?"

Cullen sighed and looked up into the sky again. The moon was climbing higher and higher up from the horizon, muting the flashing of the green with its overpowering brightness. In the distance the grey clouds continued their approach, glowing silver at their edges by the light reflecting off the full moon.

"He has gone quiet in recent months. He'd been sending regular correspondence for a while, but now that you mention it I don't actually recall the last time we heard from him," Cullen answered.

"That's strange, right? You'd think he'd been right here in the middle of it all, what with him being a Warden too,  _and_  the King. He probably could have put a stop to all this already," Avery said.

"Perhaps. But this isn't Ferelden is it? He's not the King here anymore than I am, nor are all or even most of the Wardens from Ferelden themselves. I'm sure they wouldn't feel that they owe him any particular loyalty. Plus he's surrounded by handlers and advisers now, and he's got his whole country demanding his attention. With rifts opening up all over the land and all his citizens doing their own panicking, he's probably being pulled in a hundred different directions at the moment. It wouldn't exactly be looked upon favorably to have him leave his country right now," Cullen said.

Avery tried to put herself in the King's place, during such a frightening and tumultuous time, and realized with a nod that Cullen was probably exactly right. Maker, she did not envy the King. Surely he was regretting taking the crown. It was well known that he hadn't exactly been excited about taking it on in the first place.

There was another long moment of comfortable silence as Avery settled back against Cullen's chest and rested her head on the fluff of his pauldrons. He rubbed her arms and trailed his fingertips up and down her back as they both watched the sky showing off its changing array of colors. As horrible as the Western Approach was, once the sand was out of their eyes and the sun had set, there was so much to see. The vivid clarity of the sky at night was dazzling, even moreso than the view from Skyhold. The horizon on all sides stretched flat and wide, and was not blocked by the rising peaks of mountaintops, though those were stunning in their own right. As much as she couldn't wait to return home, a part of her grudgingly admitted she would miss the nighttime desert sky.

Despite the show going on above them, her and Cullen's lips gravitated back together. The kiss happened so naturally it seemed a decision their mouths had made all by themselves. She closed her eyes and breathed him in, drawing in a long inhale as their lips parted and joined. The familiar scent of musk and wood filled her nose, crossing over into her bloodstream and activating every pleasure center in her body. Cullen's tongue slid into her mouth, drawing a low whimper from her throat. She sat up straighter and turned around to face him fully, pulling one of her legs beneath her to snake it over him and into a straddle. The courtyard just below and behind them continued to rumble with the voices of off duty soldiers. The guards on the battlements kept their distance from the far corner she and Cullen occupied, but she could still see them clearly on each end of the long stone pathways. As private as their little corner felt, they were not out of eye or earshot.

Still Cullen's hands dragged down her back to grip hard around the bones of her hips and help center her in his lap. The bulge in his pants grew firm, bucking up to press deep between her thighs, nestling itself against the increasingly throbbing root of her. She let out another involuntary moan and wound her fingers in his hair, gripping his head before delving even more deeply into his mouth. The need to have him immediately rose up from somewhere deep within, and quickly bordered on excruciating. Nearly three months of wishing, fantasizing, calling up up his scent, the feel of his mouth on her at every idle moment was finally at its end. Every curve and muscle below her searching hands was both familiar and desperately missed. His arms squeezed and writhed around her, never content to settle into one place in their attempt to pull her closer. She felt caged against his heaving chest, an eager, worshipful prisoner.

"Take me to bed, husband," she sighed into his parted lips. He nodded drunkenly, offering his hand to stabilize her as she climbed out of his lap and onto wobbly legs. The sudden shock of desire coursing through her was almost crippling. She filled her lungs with the cool night air. They needed only to get to the tent, if she could keep herself steady until then. Cullen rose to stand beside her, grabbing her hand and looking around to get his bearings. It took a moment for some blood to return to her brain and allow her to remember the location of the stairs leading down to the courtyard. Leaving the plate and emptied flagons behind, she pulled him down the battlement path toward the staircase.

As they walked she saw a flash of movement below them. She would have attributed it to a gust of wind causing the dozen or so braziers to flicker, had it not been followed by an unexpected hush over the men filling the upper courtyard. But keeping her eyes on the multitudes of heads below was of little interest, especially as Cullen's body bumped into hers with each step, his free hand trailing warmly over the small of her back. She turned to look at him, reveling for a brief moment in the flash of fire within his eyes.

They were halfway down the stairs when the sharp movements in her peripherals focused into bodies rushing toward them. She turned to see Stroud and Rylen, their eyes dark and focused. A flood of cold rushed up her back.

"What is Stroud doing here?" she asked quietly. "He's supposed to be watching Adamant."

"Sers, I'm afraid we need to go  _now_ ," Stroud barked. Rylen's jaw was clenched into a hard square as he watched Stroud speak.

"Hold up a moment," Cullen ordered. "Start at the beginning." He stepped ahead of Avery and scowled impatiently at Stroud.

"Clarel's just arrived at the fortress, and Erimond isn't giving her a moment to breathe. They may have already begun the rituals again," he said. "We're out of time, Commander."

Cullen nodded though Avery registered the disappointed, nearly imperceptible fall of his shoulders. She took a deep breath and tried to douse out the burning desire between her legs. More blighted waiting.

Cullen recovered quickly enough, his back steeling with resumption of his Commander's duties. Avery sure that no one else could sense how unwelcome their interruption was, though it was taking great effort for her not to frown. Cullen's brows drew into a hard V over his nose as he took a survey of the men around him. Many of them had already emptied several flagons into their bellies, but all were sitting up straight now, watching attentively.

"Those of you not drunk, prepare to march immediately," Cullen called over the heads of the courtyard. The men began to move, the courtyard suddenly filled once again with numerous voices.

"Where is the Inquisitor?" Cullen asked Rylen.

"I haven't seen him, Ser. He must be in his private quarters."

Cullen sighed "Well then. We'll fetch him. In the meantime gather all the men on the lower floors who can be ready quickly and prepare them to depart. Any in need of more time will just have to catch up as quickly as they can."

Avery led Cullen down to the lowest level of the Keep, and back to the deepest corner of the courtyard. The low growls of Bull were audible well before they reached the tent. The level was mostly empty, with only a few guards conversing at a table just below the stairs.

"Inquisitor!" Avery called before they got close. She had no desire to overhear anything that wasn't decidedly meant for their ears. Thankfully, the private sounds had gone silent by the time they finally approached. Cullen reached for the tent flap, but Avery grabbed his arm and shook her head in warning. He raised an eyebrow, and cleared his throat.

"Inquisitor. Clarel's reached Adamant already. I'm afraid we're out of time," Cullen called out. The authority present in his voice reminded Avery of the activities they had been about to indulge in themselves. For the second time her stomach fell in disappointment. The once aching center between her legs still reverberated with unsatisfied need.

"Now?" Anon's voice came, somewhat muffled and clearly preoccupied.

"Rylen can catch you up once you're… uh, ready. I'll be setting out with some of the men immediately, you can join the others who will be following behind. We'll try to have the path to Clarel cleared by the time you arrive," he concluded, and turned to walk away without waiting for a response.

"Uh… alright," she heard from behind. Avery would have had to laugh, if she wasn't already a confusion of emotions. The waning anticipation of sex was slowly being replaced by dread of what was to come. How would being caught off guard, and arriving without their full numbers effect their advance?

"You should follow along with the Inquisitor," Cullen said as they walked away. Despite her nerves, Avery almost laughed.

"Not a chance."

Cullen turned to raise a disapproving eyebrow at her, but she also saw the subtle curling of his lips.

"I'm going with you," she confirmed. "Besides, the men making the initial breach are going to be the ones most in need of a healer, right? I'll go change into something more battle-worthy and grab my staff."

Avery cringed against the sting of the sandy wind as she galloped alongside Cullen and Stroud. Over the last three weeks she'd made a point only to leave the Keep when absolutely necessary, and the crunch of sand between her teeth, the scraping of granules under her eyelids reminded her precisely why. Despite the stars and auroras, the Western Approach still had to be, without a doubt, the worst place in Thedas.

Behind them came the constant rumbling of nearly fifty soldiers on horseback, and even further behind were the alarming creaks and groans of giant wooden trebuchets. She glanced behind her occasionally to see thick chains swinging from the massive contraptions, and wooden beams wobbling as they were wheeled over dunes and rocks. She repeated the continuous reminder in her head that Cullen had already had these things dragged halfway across Thedas and yet still they were whole, but it was only slightly reassuring. Surely they weren't designed to travel this quickly, or for as long as they had.

The grey clouds she'd spied from the battlements had nearly spread to cover the sky by the time the distant peaks of Adamant came into view. The usually beige landscape was washed in a bluish silver from the spotlight of the bright moon as it beamed through the racing clouds. Avery was grateful for the fullness of the moon; at least they would be able to see any of the Approach's host of beasts and monsters if one decided to to attack.

She'd changed into a thick pair of leathers, and strapped on an extra pack of lyrium vials before they'd departed, but as Adamant grew larger and larger before them she began to worry that she should have also attempted to extract a rundown of the attack plan from Cullen. Getting in the way was as large a concern as ever, and as much as she wanted to be able to stick close to Cullen for the entirety of the assault, her role as a healer would require that she go where the blood was being spilled. And ideally that would be no where near her husband.

Just like when approaching the Venatori outpost, she felt the sinister nature of the rituals behind the walls even before they'd covered the last stretch. Blood magic carried with it a distinctive stench, as well as a tightening and trembling of the veil as demons punched their way through. The hairs on her arms stood up stiffly, calling attention to themselves even through the constant barrage of dry wind. There was no question that they should have left precisely when they did; the rituals had indeed already begun.

Once in the shadow of Adamant the soldiers jumped into action. Cullen and Stroud dismounted their horse and backed themselves up against the wall, facing the men while Cullen barked his initial orders. The army of soldiers raised their shields over their heads and held them side to side, creating a perfectly protective ceiling over the heads of the reorganizing men. Beneath the wall of wood and metal, bodies migrated in efficient lines as large ladders were unhooked from the trebuchets and snaked to the front between rows of men. Part way toward the back of the crowd, bows and arrow emerged between shield gaps and took aim at the men stationed atop Adamant's battlements. All at once arrows were coming from nearly every direction. Flaming shards raining down onto the upturned shields, while others shot up from men on the ground. Almonst immediately battlecries and the pinging of striking arrows filled the air, and even just observing sent surges of adrenaline rushing through Avery's veins. With a swing of her staff and a deep drink of mana she erected a thick barrier over herself, Cullen and the first row of men.

With a nod from their Commander the ladders began to rise. Stroud dove into the crowd of the men, and Avery tracked the man's dark head as he wove his way between shields and soldiers, finding a place behind a ladder. The moment the ladders tipped just on the furthest side of upright, men began to climb. By the time the ladders crashed into the battlement rails the first men were only a few rungs from the top.

And then the bodies began to fall.

Cullen stalked back and forth before the line of men, keeping just close enough to the wall to be out of range of the battlement archers. He barked orders and signaled a wave torward the first trebuchet, while Avery rushed to each body that hit the ground with a thud, confirming with baited breath that the men belonged to the other side and not their own. One man landed distressingly close to Cullen and she gave him a warning glare to be on alert. Even as she did so she was almost hit herself, as a body in blue and silver scale armor crashed at her first and squirmed with a groan. She knelt to him instinctively, unsure whether she should heal the man, or finish the job. Instead she rolled him over and looked into his face. He was just a kid, no older than Mahanon, and the wet blue of his eyes made her pause. These were Grey Wardens, she reminded herself. Many of them were acting out of fear, not malice. The kid tried to groan a word, but she heard only a gurgle in his throat. Without waiting to ask Cullen for approval, she blasted him with a wave of healing.

"We're only here to stop Clarel," Avery said as he blinked the pain out of his eyes. "We don't want to hurt you."

The boy nodded, and he opened his mouth, displaying a row of bloodstained teeth.

"They're turning us into demons!" he stuttered.

Thrusting a hand under his arm she helped the boy to a stand.

"Get out of harms way. As long as you show no aggression the men here will not attack," she told him. He nodded and cast a wary glance over the soldiers watching them from below their upturned shields. He disappeared in a cloud of sand around the corner of the building.

Standing up straight again she ran her eyes over the sea of soldiers, searching for staffheads that would signal the presence of other mages. Currently no magic was being cast from the army before her, and instead of waiting she strode quickly over to Cullen, pushing him out of the way as another body fell from the battlements into a crumple at their feet. With a quick glance she could easily see that this one was beyond saving.

"Are there no other mages?" she called to Cullen over the roar of fighting. Arrows continued to ping over their heads, while several fully armored bodies scampered through the sand with recovered arrows bundled under their arms.

"There were only a dozen or so when we set out from Skyhold," Cullen responded. "If none are here now they must still be on their way."

"That would make me the sole healer!?" she asked worriedly, the realization sinking into her gut like a ball of lead. She looked up to the battlements, where more and more Inquisition soldiers continued to climb off ladders to join the fray. "Which means I should be up there."

"No, they have potions," he said, stepping close to speak gravely into her ear. "Once they clear a section we'll be taking down the walls with the trebuchets. I don't want you up there when that happens."

Avery gave a nod, but the urgency was coiling in her muscles, urging her body to move, to join in the fight. Waiting around while bodies and arrows fell, landing only moments beyond her ability to help, was its own special agony.

It was almost a relief when another of the men who hit the ground did so with a groan. She scampered to the Warden and rolled him over quickly, eying him up to assess his injuries, but the meaty hand that found her neck stopped her in her tracks. For a mere second she was confused, until the hand began to squeeze with a deadly force. Swallowing down the healing that was waiting just at her fingertips, she instead delivered a spear of ice to the jugular, and waited as the hand clenched in a dying spasm around her before finally it fell away.

"Such a bloody waste," she spat as she walked away from the body.

Nearly half the army had ascended to the battlements by the time the roar of fighting overhead grew more distant. She peered up the stone walls and confirmed that the soldiers were succeeding in driving the fighting Wardens deeper into Adamant. As soon as the last body cleared off the front wall Cullen's hand closed around her arm, and he guided her away from the building. She watched with mouth agape as the first trebuchet was released, and realized as they moved that she'd never seen large scale siege equipment in action before. The boulder it threw crashed through the wall with force enough to reverberate through the ground, rumbling into the bones of her feet and thrumming in her knees. Rocks larger than horses tumbled down and buried themselves deeply into the sand. Before she'd even fully processed the sight the second trebuchet fired, flinging its boulder at a slightly lower angle and taking out a lower portion of the same piece of wall. The third boulder crashed just moments after the second one and then the sea of men were moving, driving forward toward the newly opened entrance into the bowels of Adamant.

"Good, others are arriving," Cullen said into her ear, pulling her out of her stunned silence. "The Inquisitor shouldn't be far behind. We need to clear him a path to Clarel."

She closed her mouth and felt the crunch of more sand between her teeth.

The sea of soldiers carried both her and Cullen along in its current. Avery watched with reverence as each soldier moved with perfect formation, their orders so deeply entrenched in their minds that no command from Cullen seemed necessary. His hand remained on her arm, light but firm, reminding her with each step that he was close. She felt carried over the rubble of the collapsed wall by the sheer force of the group's momentum, but quickly the whole movement came to a shuddering stop. The soldiers at the front had met the waiting Wardens, and soon the wave was not one of marching soldiers but of clanging, flashing metal, of the rise of blood curdling screeches and the percussive pops of demons bursting through the Veil.

"The Warden mages are all already lost," Cullen spoke into her ear. She nodded in response. They would have been the first recruited by Erimond, and likely sacrificed themselves if they resisted him.

"Stay safe, love," he whispered into her ear. She turned briefly, and pressed her lips hard against his, trying to block out the chaos around them even if only for a moment. The sea of bodies would soon tear them apart, and she would have to follow it. At least until the other healers arrived, she had a job to do.

The following minutes could have been hours, could possibly even have been days. There was no discerning the true passage of time between the moments she stopped healing to engage reluctantly in battle, no accounting for seconds stretched long and thin by a mind on alert for attackers while pushing the limits of her energy into another fading person. She came to recognize the faces of the men who were mostly likely to be dissuaded from attacking; usually the white of their eyes were flashing bright with doubt. She went to these first and let the soldiers take on the true fighters: the ones loyal to their Commander through the most questionable of commands.

In a rare moment of rest, she felt the grip of her staff burning her palm, made hot by the friction of constant spinning and twirling as she deflected oncoming chargers. When barriers could be erected, they were cast upon those most out of breath, while at the same time her eyes flicked to a million places at once. She searched for fallen bodies, for flagging fighters, confirmed that new Inquisition soldiers continued to stream into the Fortress behind them. If she had the presence of mind to do so, she searched the arriving men for mage staffs, hopeful that more healers were coming.

Even while fighting she had an eye constantly on alert for the telltale red and black of her love, and felt the prickle of anxiety rising higher with each passing moment that he failed to reappear. When there were no wounded in her immediate vicinity she rushed up stairs, stopping at an overlook to peer into the churning crowd below. The overwhelmingly dominant colors were those of the Inquisition, with many of the Wardens seeming to collapse with relief once they agreed to stop fighting. Demons continued to appear, but were struck down quickly by competent soldiers. Cullen had clearly given them the benefit of his experience with blood magic during their training.

A shade hissed to life just behind her and she turned in time to freeze him into place. The adrenaline made everything around her seem to occur in slow motion and fast forward all the same time. The ashy scent of demon clouded her vision to everything but death, and she roared with the emergence of something feral, some instinctive fight or flight triggered by that familiar and evil scent.

With a heaving chest she continued to the very top of the stairs, her staff burning hot with use and the first of two lyrium pouches discarded after being emptied. The skin over her nose pulled tight at the sudden gust of a breeze and she brushed her fingers against her nose. She'd already drawn her red mark over her face without even realizing it.

Somewhere, in a distant room of the fortress she heard the roar of the Iron Bull. Where there was Bull, there was Anon, and likely Dorian and Rylen and the remainder of the soldiers. She'd yet to have seen Clarel or Erimond, but she felt the pull of the Veil, rippling toward a central room, one whose door was currently being pounded into submission by a battering ram. She braced herself against the nearby by wall as the impact quaked through the Fortress. When the door finally fell, the first bodies she saw run through were that of the Inquisitor and his party.

"Hawke!" called a gurgling voice. Behind her on the battlements she spied a weary looking Stroud, valiantly keeping a whole line of bloodthirsty Wardens at bay. There was no time to think, no time to do anything other than join him. Avery slammed the butt of her staff onto the stone path and with the impact burst a purplish dome over her and Stroud, a barrier to absorb damage for the second it would take Stroud to toss back his last health potion. She stepped before the recovering man and swept a wall of ice over the nearest of the Wardens. Their eyes were red and wild, making clear the terrifying extent of their corruption. Still she called, knowing even as the words died in the air between them that with these particular men, it was pointless.

"Please, we don't want to fight you!"

As the blocks of ice cracked and crumbled around them, the men took one stiff step and then another, raising their blades high with a homicidal snarl. Avery unleashed an electric storm, feeling it suck the breath from her lungs as it charged the air around them with the sharp scent of ozone. She looked away as the men spasmed and cooked within their armor. Metal conducted chains of lightning from one maddened Warden to the next, paralyzing them in place until the heat and electrical charge extinguished the last bit of life from their flesh. Avery cleared the air with a wave her staff before the smoke of their burning hair began to sting her eyes.

For yet another rare moment of stillness followed, but the silence ran deeper than just the sudden lack of fighting around her. She helped Stroud to a stand, who quickly squinted over the rest of the battlements. Below them the fighting had slowed, with men stopping to watch through the shattered door. There was talking happening in the far section, in what appeared to a deeper quarter of sectioned off courtyard. The Inquisitor had reached Clarel. She heard a familiar authority in the voice that rose, reminding her of a tense afternoon in the War Room. It was still surprising to hear Anon speak in a voice so authoritative and unwavering, cutting straight through the arguments of Erimond and Clarel. Avery whispered a silent prayer that Mahanon succeed in his attempt to talk Clarel down. There was no question Erimond was too far gone, but the number of other Wardens who'd been convinced to lay down their swords was encouraging.

Stroud's voice rose as well, carrying over the hush below from the farthest stretch of battlements. The shine of blades alerted her to more fighting, and with a deep breath she turned to sprint down the length of battlement path. Stroud had joined other Inquisition soldiers and the clanging of their blades sang through the new and eerie quiet. There were Warden mages at work on this side, and lights flashed as fireballs erupted from staffs and palms. Again she smelled sizzling hair, and heard the panicked screams of overtaken soldiers. Avery focused on the mages, stained as they were with an aura of evil, their bodies mere marionettes for a few of the more insidious brands of demon. With the mage's help the shades and wraiths came again, flanking the Inquisition soldiers and knocking more bodies over the battlement walls. Avery stood just far enough away to swing her staff, freezing the fiery rage demons the moment they appeared and stunning the mages in place so that the soldier's swinging blades could bring them down. All the while she tried to split her focus between defense and attack, holding barriers of protection and healing over the flagging soldiers.

All at once the chaos built to a new crescendo, as red and purple lights flickered from within the far section courtyard, and charging bodies streamed through the door. Avery barely had a moment to register the meaning, but in the back of her mind she knew it meant that the talks had already ceased to merely be talks. But who was fighting whom was impossible to know.

Even before the screech sounded through the air, the hair on Avery's arms rose once again, tingling down her back in a way that stopped her cold. Swirling through the air around them came a sound that rattled her eardrums and made her skin crawl. Every body on the battlement path ceased its fighting for a heartbeat, as the dark figure against the clouds grew larger and more distinct. Broad wings the length of the entire fortress flapped gale force winds that rattled armor and knocked everyone off balance. Avery widened her stance as she and all the men around her struggled to stay on their feet.

"Fuck!" yelled a man nearby. The sound came again, so close it vibrated through her teeth and felt on the verge of bursting her eardrums. Even if she hadn't seen the figure circling overhead, the scream of a high dragon was unmistakable, and this one was diving through the air directly toward the fortress.

Wardens and Inquisition soldiers both began to run, scattering without direction like ants about to be stomped. Avery turned back toward the stairs and descended in a blur, miraculously making it to a platform situated partway down the stairwell. As she tried desperately to catch her breath and regain her bearings, her thoughts immediately went back to Cullen. An army was one thing, a blighted  _dragon_  was clearly another. A new note of fear infected the sounds around her as the panic ramped up to a new level, and the stone beneath her feet trembled. The dragon was attacking, blowing rock-melting bursts of flame at the far side of the Fortress. The fleeing bodies around her changed direction, and suddenly those trying to descend to the lower levels had turned around and were climbing to the top again. But the Dragon's speed was such that in a blink it had returned, and soldiers froze in the realization that there was no safe place to flee.

Still the bodies before her climbed, but Avery's eyes were locked onto the crowd below searching again for Cullen. She steeled her focus and tried to take in every man still fighting below her. Had he ascended to an upper level? Surely he wasn't still near the broken outer walls. Her lungs began to ache with the need for air as Avery realized in her stillness she'd even ceased to breathe. Head after head, most clad in metal helmets, all moved with such shared disorder that the whole crowd below seemed a single, amorphous organism. And no where within was Cullen.

She finally moved, swaying to look around the fleeing bodies who were blocking her view. She could run down and join the disarray, try to search him out on the ground. But she could see so much more from up above, and without the need to dodge elbows and axes. A large figure got in the way and she tried to step around him. She'd seen a flash of red, but the shadow before her had blocked it out before she could be sure of what it was. A hand closed around her arm and pulled her up the stairs. A familiar voice sliced through the air. Mahanon.

"Hawke! We need you!"

But the hand was Bulls, trailing closely behind Dorian and obeying the cry of the Inquisitor. Bull dragged her with the ease of a toddler dragging a ragdoll, and reluctantly she allowed herself to be towed back up the stairs. Her head craned around as her feet stumbled to keep up with Bull, searching the crowd for another flash of that red, for some sign that Cullen was still fighting strong. Her breath hitched in her throat when she finally saw it. He was there, the vision she'd awaited since she'd left him on the lower level. Cullen, swinging a long metal blade against a cluster of men in a section she'd not been expecting find him. Blood splatter peppered his face, his nostrils flaring into a focused snarl. He was fighting a number of different men, shield bashing one while lunging toward another. The man to his left was a whole head taller that Cullen and wielding a great axe with both hands. But the area they were in was too cramped for the man to get a full wind up in his swing. Immediately behind approached a mage, carrying the red pall of blood magic. In a burst of panic Avery threw an ice spear at the mage, but the distance was great and the mage had moved out of the line of fire by the time the spear reached their vicinity. It was enough to get the mage's attention, and for Avery to feel the distant pop of a silencing. The silence worked only on its target, but the sickening lurch rippled toward Avery just the same. Cullen's eyes flicked to her just in time for her to see the great axe rising high over Cullen's head.

"Fuck!" she spat, but the scene was gone. Bull's grip tightened to stop her from hitting the ground as they reached the top of the battlements again, and a railing emerged that obscured her view. Her heart was crashing wildly inside her chest. That axe was poised and ready to strike and she'd  _distracted_  him. But if it hadn't been the axe, it would have been that mage, moving with her eyes trained on Cullen like a cat sneaking up on an unsuspecting bird.

She pulled hard away from Bull's grip, but his hand might has well have been made of stone. A frightened scream rose in her throat, desperate to know what occurred in those following seconds. Her screams barely registered within the deafening roar of the dragon. And Bull hardly noticed that she was fighting to escape his grip. More seconds raced by, as she breathed through the panick attacking her chest, she came to realize that the consequence of that blade had already come to pass. Either it landed, or it had been deflected, and she was too far away now to know which.

Her heart lodged in her throat as she tried to reassure herself that Cullen was alright, that she hadn't just caused him to be beheaded by an axe. His reflexes were good, great even, and his shield could withstand a blow from an axe. But there wasn't long to work through all the possibilities until before her was yet another heart-stopping scene: the Warden Commander was chasing Erimond far ahead, followed closely by Stroud, Mahanon and Dorian. They must have passed her on the stairs and she had not even noticed.

Avery was shocked to see the mage that commanded all the Wardens was a petite, nearly bald woman, but the strength of her power of was palpable. Explosive bursts streaked through the air, making her ears pop as Clarel threw blasts of white-hot light at Erimond. Cullen would tell her  _this_  was the important battle, this was what might help end the war. Removing the Wardens as a puppet army for Corypheus was crucial to weakening him, and if Erimond managed to escape and go free, the Wardens could never safely rest. But Clarel seemed to have the situation well in hand. Erimond was cornered before a broken section of pathway while Clarel charged straight through dissipating fireballs. A new sense of purpose took over and Avery's feet flew over the path, rushing to catch up with the rest while she repeated affirmations that Cullen was fine. But in the pit of her stomach she wasn't sure she believed them. The sooner Erimond was dealt with, the sooner she could return to her husband's side.  
The dragon was circling low, its terrifying size blotting out half the landscape each time it made a pass. Finally Bull's hand slipped away, and it took all Avery's self control not to turn around and run back toward the stairs. Cullen was fine, she repeated quietly to herself. He wouldn't have made it this far in his life if he hadn't been possessed of incredible strength and tenacity.

Anon and the others slowed as they made their final approach toward Clarel. With each step the disdain in Clarel's face became more visible while Erimond cowered before her powerful attacks.

"There you are," panted Anon as she finally merged with the rest of the group. The need to know that Cullen survived the axe was clouding her brain, and she bounced on her toes, ready to join Clarelin ending the fight completely. But Clarel already dominated the scene before them, and it seemed only moments before it would be over. Just another minute or two, and Avery could turn around and run back down the stairs. "She told the Wardens to join the Inquisition. Once we capture Erimond, this should all be over," Anon said.

"But some are still fighting…?" she said, not sure if it was a question. The mages she knew were lost already, but those other men fighting Cullen were certainly not mages.

"Erimond got his claws pretty deep into some of them. But once Erimond is dead they'll have to-"

Before Anon could finish the dragon rose up like a shadow from below. What came next seemed to be a dream playing before her eyes, a hallucination brought about by overexertion. Avery's mouth dropped open in horror as Clarel was snatched off her feet by the jaws of the dragon, who with a single flap of his tattered wings was rising high into the air again. The group was stunned into silence as they watched the massive creature circle overhead, dangling Clarel's feet from its mouth. With more crashes of its wings, it dropped into a perch on a wall of stone just behind them. A violent swing of its head cast Clarel out its mouth. She landed with a crash back on the battlements, sliding toward Avery and Anon in a smear of fresh crimson.

"Shit," Avery breathed. She grabbed her staff and felt the comforting current of electricity pulsing just under its veneer. The beast hopped onto the battlements and took slow steps toward them, its feet jagged with overgrown talons. She'd seen dragons before, she'd ridden that shape-shifter Flemeth out of Ferelden. She'd fought a dragon that took up residence in the bone pit. But those were beasts of nature, no different than a druffalo or wyvern or varghest. The dragon before them was no product of the natural world. It stank of decay and sour blood, its scaly skin was ripped and rotting. And it was advancing on them, ignoring Clarel's disabled body and stepping nearly over her, pressing Avery and the others back toward Erimond and the crumbled section of wall.

A blast of light rose up from Clarel, a column of blinding power that caused the whole group to quickly sheild their eyes. Avery felt the charge in the air around her, and her own electric magic grew harder to hold at bay in response to the sensation.

Suddenly everything happening at once merged into a crashing wall of action. Screaming sounds in the air became one with the shuddering quakes of the path below her feet. The wind that blasted through her hair as the body of the dragon careened past them was also the magic that swirled and shimmered against the Veil. The crashing, clawing body of the dragon was indistinguishable from the boulders that began to separate and crack against each other as they fell. The sudden slope as the stones beneath her feet began collapsing could have been the earth itself turning on its axis, seeming to try to shake them off.

And then there was the falling. Falling, falling as bodies whizzed by. She vaguely recognized the shapes of the others. Bull's horns, Anon's blonde hair, the sleek shine of Dorian's leathers. Distantly Avery registered a flashing of green on Anon's hand, and somewhere in the back of her mind came thoughts that seemed to move at a different speed than everything else. Cullen had been only inches away from the blade of an axe, and he wasn't even the only opponent. Could that have been that lucky blade she'd been fearing back at the Keep? Avery should have turned, should have used her magic to break free from Bull's grip. She'd been a fool not to at least go confirm he survived that blow from the ax. Or perhaps she should have acted faster. She could have erected an barrier, could have frozen the axe wielder in place. But even if the blow had landed, did that necessarily mean that Cullen was dead? He was wearing armor. And what of the other healers? There had to have been more of them coming. Rylen and Anon had both mentioned other healers when they were discussing the lyrium supply. Perhaps one was nearby? Or perhaps Cullen dodged the swing entirely. The man had good reflexes. Great reflexes, actually. There was a reason he was trusted as Meredith's replacement. But just because there had been other healers didn't mean they'd arrived in time, or even that they'd survived. And if Cullen was injured there was only so much a potion could do. The urgent prayer she'd meant to say silently escaped her lips and dissipated into the ether, sucked from her throat by the vacuum of the passing air. The world was whizzing past in a disorienting blue. The only thing her eyes could register was the flaring of green from the body falling beside her. The light became a rapidly growing pool just beneath them, a gaping maw of sickly energy, waiting and ready to swallow them up.


	34. Chapter 34

Her body stopped falling without warning, lurching her stomach and lungs against the wall of her chest. Avery's mind floundered in the unexpected moment that everything suddenly went still. She'd been fighting on the battlements. No, she'd been watching a fight on the battlements. A fight with a dragon. No, she'd seen Cullen with an axe blade about to come down on his head.

And now, silence. Or near silence at least, punctuated by the erratic rising of a weird chorus of whispers in her ear. Nearby came a groan from someone. The voice was familiar. The air didn't feel like air. It was closer to a thick gas, like the crazy humidity of Dales during late spring. But even that wasn't exactly right. The only thing that eliminated the possibility of being trapped within a dream was the remaining shock of discomfort running through her body.

She focused her eyes, but the blurry shapes before her all seemed to be moving. Boulders and columns of rock, some as big as mountains, and some mere particles, all drifting through space beyond, above and under. She couldn't see her feet for the mist covering the ground, but there was a ground beneath her. She could feel it, rocky and vibrating with a current of energy that seemed to be flowing just below the surface. A groan came again, and then a sharp curse. Avery turned in a full circle, sweeping her eyes through the dissipating haze and seeing no other body within sight.

A curse again, but it seemed to come from… above? She looked up and immediately dropped to her knees. The pounding in her chest was immediate, sending courses of blood crashing through her ears. Her fingers searched below the mist, scrambling for something to grab on to so she didn't fall off the ground. Above her stood Stroud, at an unnatural angle, his feet impossibly anchored to a wall of rock. But it didn't feel like she was the one right side up, she felt like she was on the ceiling. Like there was no reason in the world for her not to still be falling. Somewhere to the right cursed Mahanon, his voice falling flat and stilted within the strange air. He was on his own break of land, completely upside down and drifting. He seemed unperturbed, standing as normal as you please despite the fact that, like Avery, he should have been plunging toward his own nasty crash.

Wait, yes. Yes, Avery knew this place. She remembered the feel of this air, the sussuration of disembodied voices in her ear. But it couldn't be. She put her fingers to her thigh and pinched herself, _hard_. A streak of pain shot up her leg. But it wasn't supposed to be possible to be physically in the Fade. When she'd gone before it had been at the behest of Keeper Marethari, conducted within dreams and aided by magic, the same all as mages ever sent to this place. That was supposed to be the only way to go into the Fade.

The world was moving. This was it, she was going to fall again. She squeezed her eyes shut and swallowed down the panic rising in her chest. At least it wasn't an interminably long fall, one that she'd have to endure for endless seconds as she waited for a distant ground rise up and crush her. This fall would be over quickly. She'd likely be injured but her power was so close to the surface now. It almost felt like the whispering in her ears was coming from her self, from the magic swarming under her skin, alive and awake. When she hit the ground and fell injured, the healing should come with little effort. The pain would be soothed and it would all be over again in a flash. Unlike a fall from, for example, the bridge before Skyhold. She shivered at just the thought. Or down into the Abyssal rift. Those falls would take minutes, many of them, and each would probably feel like an hour. Waiting, waiting for the ground to crush your bones into dust, your flesh into paste. You'd watch the land whiz by, you'd struggle to catch your breath, and you'd be completely, utterly, terrifyingly out of control.

There was talking. Her companions choking out garbled words to each other, to her, but all her mind could hold was the prospect of the fall. It was before her, and then around her, happening. But when she felt the ground against her again, it wasn't the crash she was expecting. It was more like a kiss, like she'd paused somehow before meeting the new ground. She'd squeezed her eyes closed so tightly her vision had filled with orange and blue explosions, and now the haze swirling over her eyes took its time to dissipate. But they were all there, unharmed. Mahanon, Bull, Dorian and Stroud, all now sharing a single spot of land.

Overhead the sky was filled with drifting blocks, with swirls of green that looked like warped versions of the auroras of the desert sky. Only they filled every inch of space above them. In the farthest distance, a cluster of spikes, organized eerily into a floating skyline.

"Maker's breath," she gasped as she stood. A whisper in her ear got especially loud and for the first time she recognized actual words.

_You could both be free forever_

She shook it away, whirling around to look for the source of the voice. There was only Mahanon standing behind her, his eyes wide, his body paralyzed into place.

"Fuck!" she yelped as memory of the battle came back to her. The dragon had disabled Clarel, and there was no way the Warden Commander would survive. And Cullen… _Cullen_.

"FUCK!" she yelled again. It was almost a screech.

Her search instantly became urgent. They'd gotten here, how? A hole… a hole in the Veil, green and glowing. They fell into it. But she couldn't see anything now like what had appeared below them.

"How do we get back!?" she asked. She took several steps toward nothing, and then turned and faced only more rocks, a path, some distant lights, but they were all the wrong color. They were red and blue and flickering. No where that she looked did anything stand out like that pool of light had. But hadn't Mahanon's hand glowed? Had he done it, opening a new rift just for them, the same way he'd closed so many? She stalked over to Mahanon and grabbed his hand, jerking his body as she pulled him toward her. It wasn't humming the way it had the first time they met. It wasn't lit up either. It seemed like a perfectly normal, powerless hand.

She dropped it and stood before him, urging her racing heart to calm down. Panicking never solved problems. Calm, rational thinking solved problems. There was nothing she could do for Cullen until they got back out of the Fade. If Anon's hand wasn't going to be any help, they'd have to figure something else out. They'd _have_ to. Avery closed her eyes and took a deep breath, tried to tune out her own internal screaming, the banging of her heart that urged her desperately back to the scene they'd just escaped. But the images came anyway, fresh and urgent. Dragons, magic, crumbling walls and falling axes. It seemed so close, but it was absolutely untouchable. She'd _just_ been there. Cullen! Maker's fucking breath. Nothing better have happened to Cullen. She would raze that fucking fortress to the ground if he was dead. Every single Warden left standing would pay.

But no, she wasn't there. There was no reaching him. Not as long as they stood there with her combusting from the inside out. She had to squash an inferno of flames that was finding its way to the surface of her cells, the heat growing to an unbearable level. The magic was too close here, it was too easy. _Focus!_

She concentrated on the breaths, on cooling herself, calming her mind. In and out, sucking up gulps of the weird Fade air. She ignored the hissing in her ear, the disorientation of standing on the ground and then falling up, which wasn't really up at all. One by one she closed each thought out of her mind. Finally Stroud spoke.

"Where are we?"

"We were falling," Mahanon answered quietly.

Avery opened her eyes. Everything was sharper, more focused. Panicking was pointless. She repeated this like a mantra. She took another deep breath and made eye contact with her companions. They were real. This was real. _Panicking is pointless._

"If this is the afterlife, the Chantry owes me an apology. This looks nothing like the Maker's bosom," she coughed finally. Just hearing herself make an attempt at humor had an additional calming effect. Block out the demon voices. Find a way out of the Fade. The mission before her was simple. Once that was done, then she could find out what had happened to Cullen.

"I believe we are in the Fade," continued Stroud.

"Oh, this is shitty," grumbled Bull. "I'll fight whatever you give me, Boss. But nobody said nothing about getting dragged through the ass end of demon town."

"In our world there was a rift nearby… it was in the Main hall of the fortress. It was where they were trying to bring forth the big demon. Can we get back through that way?"

Mahanon and Stroud both turned to look up at something in the sky. Avery spun to follow their line of sight. Far above swirled a glowing green vortex, one that must have been obscured by one of the floating rocks the first time she'd checked.

"I don't know if that's it, but it's something," Mahanon said.

"Checking it out is certainly better than waiting around. If we stay here, the demons will certainly find us," Avery said. Though something already had found her. Many somethings. They were quiet and weak, but they were trying. Avery wondered if Dorian was hearing the same things. The mages would be the first that any nearby spirits or demons would latch onto, of course. It wasn't the first time Avery cursed her magic.

The big demon. That was what Stroud had said. She'd not seen herself what was happening inside the main hall, had not heard the arguments between the Inquisitor and Erimond. So it wasn't enough to tether smaller demons to each Warden, they wanted to unleash a big demon upon the world? To what end!?

Avery shivered. She eyed Stroud as he walked obliviously before her. The hair on her arms stood up as she realized just how close the world had come to a catastrophe larger than anyone could comprehend. And for all she knew, they hadn't actually fully stopped it. Adamant and all the people within, all of Cullen and his men, could be being ravaged that very moment by this "big demon". But no. Clarel hadn't completed the ritual. She'd turned against Erimond too, Avery had seen that for herself. But could anything have escaped that same rift that Avery and the rest had fallen through? If they could get in, surely something else could get out?

She wouldn't know until they were out of there. She sighed, a heavy, exasperated sigh. They all needed to get the fuck out of there.

But all there was to do was walk, traveling over the misty ground in the direction of the distant light. It felt almost hopeless even as they continued to trudge onward. Not only was it so far away, but it was in the sky. Even when they'd finally gotten as close as they could get on the ground, how could they get _up to it?_

Movement out of the corner of her eye. A green, ethereal body, disappearing into the rock across the way, and not at all concerned with the invaders in its midst. A footstep for every second, and the seconds droned on and became minutes, and then an eternity. Every moment that she wasn't at Cullen's side felt like a waste of her breath. But there was no choice. Onward, forward. It was the only thing to do.

Bull was grumbling, but Avery didn't care enough to hear his words. They didn't seem to be directed at anyone in particular anyhow. Mahanon's posture was stiff, betraying supreme discomfort and lack of focus, stomping step by step with rigid limbs. It was easily the least graceful she'd ever seen him. A voice in the back of her mind, one of her own, hinted that she might want to keep an eye on him. It wouldn't do to have the Inquisitor lose whatever competency he did have. What would a non-mage Dalish even know about the Fade? She realized with a start that she had no idea. There were Keepers of course, always mages, that oversaw every clan and shared their culture's knowledge. But so much of that knowledge was at odds with what other cultures claimed. And Anon had never spoken of his Keeper. He'd never spoken of magic much at all, and he'd chosen the help of the Templars over that of the mages. He could be just as ignorant about mages and the Fade as he had been about lyrium. And if he didn't know much, or what he thought he knew was wrong, that could make the Fade all the more frightening, or so she imagined. Either way, he was worryingly quiet.

Bull spoke again, louder.

"Everyone, if I get possessed, feint on my blind side, then go low. Cullen says I leave myself open."

Avery sighed as her husband's name cut through her thoughts. She tried to will her body not to respond to it. But the whispers in her ear seemed to have felt the sudden release of stress chemicals into her bloodstream, growing louder in response. The hush increased, and words were growing clear once again. Promises. Always with the promises. She shook her head and began to hum, trying to drown out the sound with her own voice. Stroud and Dorian turned their heads. She studied Dorian's face for any sign of understanding, but if he was hearing anything similar, he gave no indication. Avery kept humming anyway, remembering a song she'd once heard in the tavern in Skyhold. A song about the blighted Grey Wardens.

They continued on, climbing over rocky pathways and staying close together. They passed pools of something like water, but the liquid was darker, permanently ensconced in shadow even when light flickered overhead. There were green flames that seemed to sprout from nowhere. There were steps carved out of rock, leading to winding pathways and movements all around, but whenever she turned her head to find the source it was instantly gone.

There should be spirits here too, spirits that weren't all bad. Some weren't bad at all. Like Cole. Like Justice had probably been originally, before he'd been changed by the world on the other side of the Veil, by the taint in Anders' blood. By his host's seething, sweltering rage. There would also be lost souls, the spirits of those who were too emotionally trapped to ascend to someplace better after their death. She could feel the energies swirling around her, like a wind of magic breezing over her skin. The place looked mostly empty, yet it felt so full.

Mahanon came to an abrupt stop, leaving everyone watching him closely for direction. He was keeping his uncertainty contained beneath a surprisingly controlled facade of calm.

"Did you see that? Up ahead?" he asked finally. Avery turned to follow his eyes, seeing only the swarming shadows that seemed to occupy every corner.

"Kadan?" Bull asked, an eyebrow raised. "See what, exactly?"

"A woman. I swear I just saw a woman. She looked… normal. Dressed funny… familiar, actually."

"An illusion," offered Dorian. "This is what they do, Inquisitor. Try to resist being fooled by a pretty pair of tits."

Mahanon rolled his eyes, his first normal movement since they'd arrived.

"There were no tits," he answered.

In the nooks of passing rocks and caverns were little clusters of curiosities. Mirrors and beds, corners of bedrooms transported from scenes in a life, from dreams and memories. Anon insisted on stopping for them, while Avery bounced on her toes at the back of the group, biting her tongue at her desire to urge him to just stop fucking around already. It had been the same in Crestwood. She was raring to go, while he wanted to dawdle. The frustration rose inside her like floodwater.

She'd been succeeding at keeping her fears about Cullen quiet, and in drowning out the whispers with humming, and small talk with Bull, and unexpectedly, by watching Stroud. By looking at that figure of a Griffin on his shoulder, the exalted symbol of the Wardens themselves.

The Grey Wardens. It struck her somewhere that they were responsible for all of this. They'd listened to Erimond, allowed all their mages to turn to blood magic. They'd attempted to bring a giant demon through the Veil in Adamant. If the blighted Warden's had just been a little bit stronger, if they hadn't panicked at the Calling, and instead tried to _talk_ to each other, to recognize the oddity of the phenomena and try to find the source first, _before_ resorting to making sacrifices for bloody demons, none of them would be here. Lives wouldn't have been lost. She'd never have come to the Western Approach, never watched in horror as Cullen was about to be felled by an axe, never have gotten trapped _in the fucking Fade…_

The whispers in her ear agreed. Scenes of dead Wardens, of her arm being raised by the Inquisitor in triumph flashed before her eyes, along with words of her great deeds. _The Wardens became a threat none of us could have imagined. We'd all have perished if not for Hawke…_ Avery shook it away. She knew that voice. Pride. The demons were stupid if they thought they could hook her by using promises of more fame. She almost laughed. She'd already had plenty of that, and it had proven to be quite the burden. _Fuck fame._ She almost spat it aloud, but caught herself. Still, the whispers heard her inner voice. They heard and they responded. The scenes were replaced by a simple moment of freedom, of blue skies and verdant fields, of Cullen beside her, holding her hand, flashing a carefree smile with a healthy, sun-flushed face that was completely devoid of weariness or pain. It was lovely, and tempting. But she knew not to trust it. She shook her head again, pressed the scene away, refocused on her previous thoughts. The Wardens. She realized as she came back into her old line of thought that she was getting angry. She was _making herself_ angry the more she contemplated the situation. None of this would be happening if it wasn't for the Wardens. _It was all the bloody Wardens._

But then she also wouldn't have been summoned to Skyhold in the first place. The Inquisition needed to make use of her Warden contact, the only Warden that could be located. Which meant she'd still be traveling aimlessly with Fenris. She wouldn't currently be Mrs. Hawke-Rutherford. She touched her ring. It belonged to her finger, as perfectly as though she'd been born with it. It almost blended in upon touching, as warm and smooth as the flesh around it. It was _right_ to be there, to mean what it meant. It'd still be in her coinpurse, hidden away with all the other memories of Cullen. If not for the Wardens.

Her shoulders drooped as the rising frustration drained back out. Anon stuck something in his pocket and backed away from a stained bedroll and teddy bear, turning to lead the group back along the path.

She continued her humming, searching her mind for another tune that wasn't about more Warden heroics, and watched her feet as they walked. Occasionally the mists got so thick she couldn't see anyone's feet at all; it appeared that everyone's legs just ceased to exist about halfway down the shins. It was amusing in its way, until she almost tripped on a rock she couldn't see.

"There! See?" Anon gasped. Avery looked up, and saw what he saw. But it couldn't be. It wasn't possible.

"No, that's definitely a demon," Avery said. Still Anon advanced. A woman. Not just any woman. Divine Justinia.

"By the Maker, could that be…?" asked Stroud.

"I greet you, Warden, and you Champion," came the voice. A smooth, Orlesian lilt that sounded as human as could be. Avery approached cautiously, surprised to hear herself being addressed. The woman's silver blue eyes took her in with a startling lucidity.

"Divine Justinia," began Anon, but he seemed not to know how to follow it up. His brows were raised in surprise, his face disconcertingly lacking any trace of suspicion. Avery watched him with her breath caught in her throat. _Don't be stupid Anon,_ she urged silently. As if he'd heard, his face fell into a scowl.

"What are you? A spirit? A demon? The real Divine couldn't have survived Haven."

"Couldn't she?" the figure responded calmly. "How much of Haven do you truly remember? You think my survival impossible, yet here you stand alive in the Fade yourselves. In truth, proving my existence either way would require time that we do not have."

Avery held her tongue.

"I am here to help you. You do not remember what happened at the Temple of Sacred Ashes, Inquisitor," she said.

"The real Divine would have no way of knowing that I'd been made Inquisitor," Anon answered back. Avery felt herself relax a little. He seemed to be trying to be smart about this.

"I know because I have examined memories like yours, stolen by the demon that serves Corypheus. It is the nightmare you forget upon waking. It feeds off memories of fear and darkness, growing fat upon the terror. It is he who unleashed the false calling that terrified the Wardens into making such grave mistakes."

Stroud shifted on his feet, taking a step forward.

"I would gladly avenge the insult this Nightmare dealt my brethren," Stroud sneered.

"You will have your chance, brave Warden," she said as she turned to face Stroud. "This place of darkness is its lair."

"The big demon Erimond was trying to bring through?" asked Anon.

"Yes."

"It's nearby?"

"Yes," she answered again. Anon paused for a moment, his brows furrowed.

"Well. Shit."

"When you entered the Fade at Haven, the demon took a part of you. Before you do anything else, you must recover it," Justinia continued. "These are your memories, Inquisitor."

Justinia looked to her right, as vortexes of ghostly light appeared, peppering a large clearing beyond a ridge. The group inspected the whorls of green and silver, small cyclones of energy that seemed to contain indecipherable images. Avery turned again to cast another wary glance at the woman before them, but she was gone. Mahanon took a step toward the swirling lights

The impact of the memory's retreat felt like the long fall and the crash she'd been waiting for. Avery gasped for a lungful of the thick Fade air as her mind processed what she'd just witnessed. She blinked away the lights before her eyes. Wardens, in a circle, holding Justinia in chains of magic. Sacrificing her. For bloody Corypheus. And the orb, smacked out of Corypheus's hand where it rolled across the room. Mahanon had instinctively picked it up at just the moment of the ritual's completion.

The Wardens had killed the divine. The anchor on Anon's hand was meant for Corypheus. He meant to tear down the Veil and rule the lands from the Black city. The Black city that hung dark and ominous in the distance, visible from Avery's very spot. She looked around as she slowly came back into herself. Anon was holding his head. Bull was already on his feet, his one eye wide and angry. And Stroud. _Stroud._

Words were rising, bile seared the back of her throat. She already knew what the Wardens had done was bad, but she did not know that they had facilitated the beginning of this whole bloody war.

The woman was back. "You cannot escape the lair of the Nightmare until you regain all that it took from you," came her voice. "You have recovered some of yourself. But now it knows you're here. You must make haste. I will prepare the way ahead."

Avery felt frozen into place. The woman would prepare the way ahead? She was helping them out of the Fade? It couldn't be. It had to be a ruse, a trap. It was more likely that this woman was working for the Nightmare demon. Pretending to help in order to lure them into a web from which they would not be able to escape, to make them easy targets, easy prey. Avery wanted to trust it, but she could still hear the lies of the nearby spirits in her head. This is what they do, she reminded herself sternly. They lie. Avery was shaking her head again, she felt her lip curling in disgust. And then the blighted, fucking _Wardens_!

"Something troubling you, Hawke?"

She pressed down a bitter laugh and tried to collect herself.

"Well. I wondered if you might be concerned about the Grey Wardens holding the Divine in that vision?" she sniped. Stroud raised an eyebrow, looking at her with a steely glare.

She glared right back and directed her words at Stroud, exactly where they belonged. " _Their_ actions led to her death."

Stroud seemed unperturbed. "I assume he had taken their minds, as you have seen him do before."

He paused. Avery said nothing.

"Come, we can argue after we escape this dark place," he finished.

She laughed, feeling the current of disdain thrumming under her skin. It was the Wardens who brought her to Skyhold, who had reunited her with her love, but it had also been a Warden holding that axe.

"Oh, I intend to," she growled. Anon flashed a disapproving look, and turned to continue down the path.

Fighting demons was different in the Fade. On the other side there was always the slight vibration that came a millisecond before they popped through the Veil, but in the Fade there was no such warning. The demon's powers were clearly greater, their bodies stronger and quicker, but Avery's magic felt equally enhanced. A vast sea of mana churned through the air, and pulling from it was as easy as taking a breath. But the fighting was nonstop, and even with her amplified spells, she felt her body draining. Since the Nightmare knew where they were now, he was sending legions of demons, wraiths and shades at them, and the attempt to wear the Inquisitor's party down was working. The group could barely make it twenty paces without having to stop for yet another fight, and after each one she noticed the recovery seemed to take just a little bit longer than the last. Avery yawned eventually, sucking in a throatful of musty Fade, and almost coughed it back out. The constant battles and slow progress made it feel as though they'd already been there for hours. She couldn't begin to guess how late it was on the other side of the Veil. It had been dark by the time they set out for Adamant from Griffin's Wing Keep, and that trip had taken at least two hours by itself. By her estimation it had to have been in the wee hours of the morning. Likely already past the point where Cullen's fate had been completed. Either he had been struck down, or he had been given potions and a healer's touch. Whatever became of that the culmination of that moment was still entirely, frustratingly out of her hands.

She had a vague awareness that her frustration resisted all her attempts at repression, continuing to bang around inside her for some sort of outlet. Its easiest target remained the Wardens, regardless of her efforts in talking herself down. It wasn't as simple as 'the Wardens are bad; everything is their fault', or at least that was what the logical, rational part of her brain kept repeating, and a part of her could recognize the truth in that. But the images of the Warden with the axe, and the group holding the Divine, flared up something inside that overpowered her rational brain in hot, scorching flashes. She wondered as they trudged along if it might be easier to stay rational if she wasn't both so blighted tired, and yet somehow also full of restless energy. Her time with Cullen had been cut short that night, right when her body was reaching a fever pitch of desire. And the possibility loomed black and terrifying over her head that it might have been cut short permanently. She somehow managed not to indulge in that possibility. But that fear, that frustration was running amok. The only upside was how the preoccupation seemed to silence the whispers in her ear. But every time she realized she wasn't listening anymore, they latched on to her awareness and grew louder. She sighed and continued on, trying not to glare at Stroud as they walked.

But then the Nightmare began to speak.

"Perhaps I should be afraid. Facing the most powerful members of the Inquisition," the dark, rumbling voice laughed. It seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere all at once. The group stopped short, and Mahanon spun as he looked around wildly.

"The Qunari will make a lovely host for one of my minions," continued the voice. "Or perhaps I will ride his body myself."

Bull snorted and shook his head. His mouth twisted into a snarl as he readjusted his grip on his greatsword. The wooden handle creaked as he squeezed so tightly his knuckles turned white. He began walking ahead, grumbling under his breath.

"I'd like to see you try," he whispered angrily.

"Don't listen to the voice," Avery urged. "The woman said he could see our memories, and get into our minds. He's likely going to go after what he thinks are our weak spots. Ignore him!" she urged as she nudged everyone to catch up with Bull.

The party continued along in silence, but everyone's backs were stiff.

Quietly in her ear, the slur of whispers grew in volume again, and collected into a audible stream. It grew deeper until it sounded almost exactly like the Nightmare voice.

_You never get tired of failure, do you? Do you enjoy leading those who rely on you into disaster?_

Avery shook her head and began to hum again, this time louder than she intended to. All eyes turned to her, but this time they were wide with more than just confusion. She glanced at Dorian.

"Are you hearing this too?" she asked finally. Dorian gave a small nod.

Somehow that knowledge was comforting. She hadn't been singled out, for whatever unknowable reason. It was probably beginning to seep into the minds of the other's, spinning its web of lies in an attempt to lure them into weakness and confusion. She could only hope that Anon and Bull would listen to her warnings. The demon was a liar, no different than a drunk, horny man at a tavern. He'd say whatever he needed to say to get the effect he wanted. And besides, she was not going to lead them into failure, because she wasn't leading them at all. She was a follower now.

Yet somehow, after another pocket of shades had been cleared out of a dark corner, she found herself at the front of the group, with Mahanon only a few steps behind. From several paces to her rear, Dorian began to hum.

"Okay, what is that about? You two having sudden urges to become a bard?" asked Bull.

Dorian continued to hum. "Don't pretend like you don't love the sound of my voice, Bull. I should be charging you for the pleasure."

Bull snorted.

"No, he's talking in our heads," squeaked Anon. Avery stopped and turned to look at him. His face was practically grey.

"Don't listen to it Anon," she warned. A prickle rose up her arms. The whole group needed Mahanon to stay strong.

"Hum with me. Drown it out." Avery said, taking a few more steps to encourage everyone else to keep moving, but keeping her pace slow. She sidled up beside Anon, and continued humming some randomly selected melody. He looked as though he was about to vomit. Of course a Dalish kid with no magic would have no experience trying to ignore the voices of demons. While she would guess that she and Dorian were still hearing things that he wasn't, they at least had the benefit of some practice in deflecting the promises of a demon. Stroud brought up the back of the group, his eyes casting around warily.

"Or… how bout we'll talk, okay?" she asked Anon when he remained silent. Avery glanced at Bull, imploring him with her eyes to come help. He seemed to get the message and moved up to take his place on Anon's other side.

"Kadan, you can do this," Bull said as he laid a reassuring hand on Anon's shoulder. The words alone seemed to help him stand taller. Mahanon glanced up at Bull, a shine of affection in his eyes. In a quick secondm they almost appeared to water. The demon's were probably sensing the connection between them now, and honing in on Anon's fears for Bull, for their future together.

Avery searched her mind for a topic, for a question she could ask to get Anon talking. If they could keep him talking, keep his mind moving, he wouldn't have time to listen to whatever was being said in his head. She could only imagine the dark thoughts the demons were accessing. From Bull, the loss of his clan, all the racism he'd encountered, the pressure of having the Inquisition on his shoulders. So much fodder for a Nightmare to play with. Avery's heart ached. The sickened look on his face made him look younger and more unsure of himself than ever.

"Anon, what's your favorite food?"

Bull snorted with laughter. She gave a shrug. It was all Avery could think of.

"I have recently discovered that a simple cheese sandwich can be absolutely divine," she said. She called up the memory as a part of her own diversion tactic, keeping her thoughts as fully focused on her words as she could manage. "Some thick, fluffy slices of bread, slathered in butter and fried on both sides until they're golden brown and crisp. And a bunch of gooey, melty cheese in the middle…"

Suddenly Avery's mouth was watering.

"That… that actually does sound pretty good," said Stroud.

"I certainly haven't had anything like that since leaving Skyhold," Avery finished. Anon was still quiet, but he was moving, watching her. He was listening.

"I'll see if Cullen will make one for you some time," she said.

"Cullen?" he asked, raising an eyebrow in surprise.

"That's right. He's actually a terrific cook," she answered. _Just keep talking. Keep him focused. Keep yourself focused. Don't even think about the possibility of never having one of Cullen's late night meals again._ Avery took a deep breath and steeled her mind. "A bit of a surprise huh? I bet he could make whatever your favorite dish is."

Anon snorted. "Unless he's been trained by a Dalish chef, then I doubt it."

"Why, what do the Dalish do—"

As they rounded a corner the deep voice filled the air around them again, cutting Avery off.

"Greetings, Dorian. It is Dorian, isn't it? For a moment I mistook you for your father," claimed the voice. The volume of the words pounded inside her skull, yet somehow still didn't drown out her own whispers. "Your shame will never disappear, Dorian. It will eat at you like the sickness it is. Until you crawl back to your father. Until you become the man you know you could be. A better, more respectable man." Dorian looked unruffled, and issued a terse response.

"Rather uncalled for," he said, shrugging off the insult.

The demon's voice continued in her own mind as well. It took a moment to realize he hadn't immediately moved to addressing her out loud.

_Skyhold is going to see a worse fate than Kirkwall, and you'll get to share the blame for that one too. But your Commander won't be around to see it. He's already dying. Right now he is taking his last breath, wondering why his wife has no interest in being at his side, in helping him recover from his wound. That axe was a big one, wasn't it?_

Avery swallowed hard, but her throat felt like sandpaper. She put her head down, continuing to power forward. _Focus._

"So what is so different about Dalish food, Mahanon?" she asked. She cast him a quick glance to see Bull walking close, keeping nearly shoulder to shoulder. Or, closer to shoulder to elbow.

_Blood is spilling from Cullen's mouth. Those lips you love to kiss are screaming in agony. How does it make you feel to know you will never see the man you love alive again, Hawke? All you can think about is cheese sandwiches while he is writhing in pain and wondering why you abandoned him in his darkest hour._

"Mahanon?" she continued, talking over the voice in her head, "You guys are, what, hunters? Nomads? You probably don't garden much, right? So you hunt rabbits and deer, eat berries and things that grow wild…?" she asked, realizing as she spoke that she was doing so very loudly. She pushed the pictures of Cullen's blood out of her head, and thought instead about venison, about berry cobbler. Her mother used to make a berry cobbler, using the blackberries that grew along their fence back in Lothering. Blackberries were a rarity in the Marches. She was always on the lookout for them in the markets of Kirkwall, and only ever saw them once. But it was after her mother was already gone. She'd stood before the market table for much longer than she intended to, on the verge of tears at the realization that she'd never asked her mother to teach her how to make the cobbler. She never asked her mother to teach her how to make much of anything. She would never see her mother again, and she would never taste that cobbler again, or any of her other dishes that only she could make the way that she did.

"Did you think you mattered, Hawke? Did you think anything you ever did mattered?" came the Nightmare voice again, changing tactics. This time it was out loud. She felt the group looking at her. She winced at the mention of her name. "You couldn't save your family. Malcolm, Leandra, Bethany and Carver, all dead due to your weakness. They would all still be alive if it had been you that died leaving Lothering. And Cullen is on his way to meet the rest of your family, right now. Your hands are stained with the blood of thousands of strangers, as well as every person you ever loved."

Avery clamped her mouth shut. She suddenly felt a bone deep chill. The words had been loud. Too loud. It didn't matter if she'd tried to speak on top of them, they would not be drowned out. Yet still, the whispers kept going in her ear, and when she began to hum she realized that she'd inadvertently chosen a lullaby her mother used to sing to her and the twins. She stopped walking for a moment, instantly overwhelmed and blinking hard against the sting of tears.

"You're correct," Anon said. She stared at the ground, realizing that everyone was waiting for her. She had to keep going. She was the one encouraging everyone else to ignore the demon. It wouldn't look good if she couldn't follow her own urgings. With a breath she began moving again, her muscles working automatically, each foot stepping in front of the other. Her fingers began to ache with how tightly she was gripping her staff. Anon's voice broke through, and she was glad to hear it.

"Whatever we can hunt, but I actually prefer fish. There were these salmon in the river near my clan's grounds. I'd catch a couple of them, and Deranni would cover them in lemon and birch syrup and then smoke them long and slow over the fire. Do you think Cullen could do that?"

Avery had stopped humming. Had stopped the tears. She was focusing again, imagining the scent of smoked fish over a fire. She wanted to ask who Deranni was, but was afraid of dredging up other unwanted memories for Anon. Was Deranni the girl he had loved? The girl he was going to go back for?

"We'd have to get some salmon into Skyhold first," was all she could think of to say. In all honesty, she had no idea if that was something Cullen could do. She had no idea if Cullen would ever cook again.

They continued more tense steps through the Fade mist, and after rounding a corner was faced with a cluster of dropping spiders. Avery was glad for the new distraction. She spun her staff and ran up ahead. She'd always found the giant spiders to be especially creepy, but she was grateful for any foe upon which to target her new burst of anger. With each blast from her staff she pictured the Warden holding the axe over Cullen's head. It was no matter that she hadn't seen the man's face, or anything about him beyond his uniform, and the fact that he was incredibly tall. She imagined the Nightmare demon's face and took pleasure in the crunch under her boot with each Spider leg that she stomped.

More of Anon's memories retrieved from additional vortexes, while the vision of the Justinia imposter glowed as it waited up ahead for them, clearing the way just as it had promised. Avery finally gave in, her weariness growing to depths she couldn't escape any longer. She began to listen to the whispers in her ear as they moved forward, considering each new attempt by the demons to rile her up, to get under her skin. But it seemed she was listening from a distance, and the longer she did so, the more she numbed to it. It was true that she had failed at many things. That was something she had already acknowledged about herself and the actions in her past. It was true that her family was dead and she could have done more to stop it. It was true that Cullen was going to die, eventually, if he hadn't already. Just like she would, and Anon would and every single person she knew. If Cullen had already passed, then nothing else really mattered anyway. The truth was a cold, hard knot in her gut.

"Deranni also used to make these apple and potato pancakes. She'd fry them in duck fat until they were crispy, and then cover them in a berry syrup," Anon said. His tone had taken on a new sadness. Avery looked over at him and saw black eyes lost deep into memory. Perhaps asking about that hadn't been the best move. Probably the demons had found that too, and were twisting around the memories, using it to dig their fingers into deeper pockets of longing and trauma.

"Cullen could probably make that," Avery croaked. Anon shook his head.

"No," he said sadly. "No. It wouldn't be the same."

Avery nodded. Just as no one else's blackberry cobbler would ever be the same. She reached out and squeezed his upper arm. She let her hand linger for a moment. Human contact was nice, even for her. It was a brief, welcome reminder that this wasn't all some horrific dream, though she wasn't sure if that was a comfort or a terror.

A black cloud had settled over the whole group, occasionally punctuated by Dorian's hums. Their bodies began walking closer together, drawing tighter and tighter, as though proximity might increase their strength. The few times Avery looked around, the faces around her were pale and shellshocked.

"Warden Stroud. How must it feel to devote your whole life to the Wardens, only to watch them fall?" asked Nightmare, shattering the eerie silence.

"Or worse, to know that you were responsible for their destruction? When the next blight comes, will they curse your name?"

Avery felt a sneer form over her lips, but something quickly caught her before she shot him a hateful glare. He was the sole straggler, walking several paces further away than everyone else. A tiny voice in the back of her mind that belonged to her alone, urged her to continue to resist Nightmare's influence, to whatever extent she was still capable. And the more she thought about it, the more surprised she was that the demons hadn't already picked up on her resentment. Or perhaps they were responsible for it in the first place? It certainly wasn't like her to talk herself into a grudge. It wasn't like her to single a man out and exclude him from a group when that group could only be stronger with his addition.

But that fucker with the axe.

Still, they'd had their minds taken. They were afraid, and Corypheus had taken advantage of that. _Have some compassion Avery._

A burn of frustration rose up into her throat. She had no idea what was real in this place. She wasn't sure she could trust her own thoughts, fears, emotions. There were forces trying to manipulate them everywhere they turned, from inside and out. Still, when Stroud spoke, she felt a prickle of derision.

"With the Maker's blessing, we will end this wretched beast," he snarled.

 _If we'd had the Maker's blessing, we wouldn't be in this blighted place_ , she thought to herself. And then quickly corrected herself.

 _If we weren't in this place, we'd all be lying crushed under a wall of falling rocks and a dying dragon._ Death or savior by Fade rift. Those had been their options. Avery sighed and rubbed at her temples.

The next set of memories revealed something startling. Avery had begun to ignore this imposter Justinia when it appeared, listening only so far as to confirm it wasn't giving Anon any obviously bad advice. The whispers in her head were growing impatient and frustrated, and were digging deep for dreams and desires that now only roused the most flaccid of interest in her. But she was growing too exhausted to feel the triumph. She wondered briefly what sorts of things the demons had said to Cullen in Kinloch Hold? A templar, like any other non-mage, also wouldn't have grown up with demons knocking into their minds from weak points in the Veil. Not that mages were inherently stronger, but as with anything in the world, if you press hard in the same spot over and over you eventually toughen that place up, develop a callous. Most mages had seen numerous attempts at being lured in by a demon by the time they'd reached Cullen's age. But what Cullen had experienced wasn't exactly the same thing either. The demons that plagued him in Kinloch Hold had the strength of a blood mage's spells behind them, had come and been shaped at that mage's behest, and had seen him physically restrained for countless hours, possibly many days in their attempt to break him down. He'd had to have starved, grown dehydrated and deeply exhausted as he languished inside that prison. The more she considered the reality of what he'd experienced there, the more in awe she became of the man she knew. Could most mages say they'd be able to withstand the same assault on their minds and spirits? Cullen had an inherent strength, that was clear. He'd have to in order to survive what he did there. And his withstanding such an assault would only have made him stronger still. Perhaps that was why he was the only known Templar who'd ever kicked lyrium and lived to tell about it.

"It was you," said Anon, snapped her out of her thoughts. He was addressing Justinia, who only looked back at him calmly.

"They thought it was Andraste sending me from the Fade, but it was The Divine behind me. And then you… she died."

Justinia slowly nodded her head, taking the group in with piercing, silvery blue eyes.

"Yes," she said.

Stroud stepped forward, "So this creature is simply a spirit?"

Avery felt reluctant to admit it, but so much of what this imposter had shown them seemed to ring true, at least to Mahanon. Spirits were here in the Fade, that was well known. It would make sense that one of the more benevolent ones might choose to aid them. Still, giving up the assumption that this creature was a demon remained still felt risky. Any clever demon could pose as a spirit, or the dead Divine.

Justinia looked squarely at Avery.

"I am sorry if I disappoint you," she said. The words felt like a knife to the heart. Avery frowned. She thought of Cole. All Cole wanted to do was help people, and yet so many people in Skyhold still called him a demon. With a sigh, Avery gave Justinia an apologetic shrug.

In an instant, the woman caught fire, her skin dissipating behind streams of blinding light. Her body floated off the ground, hovering well over the heads of the group, like a creature made from the same fabric as the sun.

"The only thing that's important right now is getting out of the Fade," sighed Anon as they both watched the body float before them. The figure was that of a young woman, graceful and luminous. Avery wondered if this was what all spirits looked like.

"Whatever you are, you've helped us so far," he continued.

"What we do know is that the mortal Divine perished at the Temple," Avery said, her thoughts rolling off her tongue. She couldn't help but add, "Thanks to the Grey Wardens."

 _And my husband might be dead at the hand of one._ The thought was like a punch to the gut. She swallowed it down and bit her tongue. She didn't know that yet. But they _did_ know the Grey Warden's killed the Divine. That they had all seen with their own eyes.

Stroud turned, sighing impatiently.

"As I said, the Grey Wardens responsible for that crime were under the control of Corypheus. We'll discuss this when we get back to Admant," he said. Avery felt that prickle again, a stinging heat that rose up her throat, bringing a slew of bitter words with it.

"Assuming that the Wardens and their army didn't destroy the Inquisition while we were gone," she said, stopping herself before she said Cullen's name. She recognized that her efforts to keep that piece out of her argument betrayed something of its own. What? That it might reveal her as blinded by her own personal fears? That she might be speaking from a place of irrational bias because of what she saw? Was that correct? The war in her mind was confusing. What she saw versus what she feared, and how her imagination was filling in the blanks. But that didn't stop her hands from shaking in anger, the rush of adrenaline up her spine as Stroud faced her and raised his voice.

"How dare you judge us!" he growled. "You tore Kirkwall apart and started the mage rebellion!"

She didn't feel herself move, but suddenly she found herself only inches from Strouds annoyingly manicured face.

"To protect innocent mages, not madmen drunk on blood magic! But you'd ignore that, because you can't imagine a world without the Wardens, even if that's what we need!"

There was a moment of tense silence. Stroud's mustache quivered as he stared hard into her face. Avery wasn't sure of her words. What would happen if there was another blight? Surely there would be, some day. And on that day, the world would need the Wardens again. But what until then? When the Wardens were seemingly so vulnerable to manipulation by demons, then didn't that make them a liability, too?

"Don't know that we can pass judgment on the only folks who know how to stop blights," interjected Bull. Avery felt her stance relax. He was right. Of course he was. Weren't they both right? Wardens were needed during blights, but had also proven themselves a danger, a weakness of their own.

Anon stepped up, his brows furrowed.

"Could both of you please shut up?" he asked. Avery took a deep breath and stepped down. She didn't know what was right any more. This wasn't supposed to be her decision anyway. She wanted this call to be completely out of her hands. She closed her eyes and tried to center herself, but found the attempt thwarted by the racket pinging around inside her head. She could probably be much more rational if she didn't have a brain full of a bunch of infernal demon whispering. Avery turned away and tried to shake the chaos out of her head, but it was no use.

There was scratching and rustling coming from not far away, at least she thought that's what it was. There seemed to be a roar of noise and it was getting louder. She pressed her hands to her temples and hummed. A hand closed around her arm, a skinny little hand. She expected to turn and see Stroud, but it was Anon. His dark eyes were still fearful, but also full of concern.

"Don't listen to it," he said, parroting back her own words. "Hum that pretty song you were singing earlier. Or.. Or tell me more about Cullen's cooking. Do you really think he'd make me a sandwich? Even after…?" Anon's grip was getting tighter, and he gasped and squeezed his eyes shut. Despite the roar in her head, she focused on Anon. Just past him even Dorian was wincing. They were all hearing it. The Nightmare. It must be close. She grabbed his hand back. It seemed that every thing they'd fought over in the past, the lyrium, the threat of her exile, none of it really mattered. They were both under assault by a demon, and she needed him to get out of there. She needed him, and he appeared to have been helped by her, at least helped enough to offer the same in return. Not knowing what else to do, she fired up her healing and it burst like an explosion out of her cells. She let it cover Anon, seeking out any cuts or hidden pains that needed to be mended. At the very least the sensation might provide a momentary reprieve from the assault going on inside their heads. And having a reason to focus her energy on her magic was helping to calm her as well. For a moment it seemed there was silence. Or perhaps it was just a wall of magic going up between their minds and all the noise. He seemed to relax, to stand taller. Just a moment of rest. It washed over her like a balm, soothing out all the rough edges in her soul that the demon had teased into daggers. She needed the relief desperately, and so, apparently, did Anon. It was restorative, rejuvenating, and she wondered why it was she hadn't thought of it sooner. They all had needed healing at one point or another, and she knew the focus had been enough to give her a moment of quiet. But it seemed indulgent to stop the progress just to bask in a moment of warmth and silence. And even now, it could not last.

"Inquisitor!" Stroud called.

From a distance, she heard Justinia's voice again. "The Nightmare has found us."

 _Right. The big demon._ Avery let her magic dissipate and stood to face a calmer, stronger looking Mahanon. She too felt stronger.

Justinia disappeared. Avery's eyes met Strouds and there was no more fight between them. Their foe was not each other, not truly. It was the black energy creeping toward closer by the second, the one that had been slithering into their minds and teasing out their greatest fears. Together, they gave a nod, and the whole group turned to face a new legion of descending spiders.

They crashed through water, carving a path through massive eight-legged beasts as they ran under falling streams and around jagged twists and turns. A large clearing led to a sight that brought them all to a stop. In the distance hovered a spider larger than any she'd ever seen. But it wasn't just a spider. She felt the evil radiating off of it like a fever. The beast belonged to the thing before it, a floating man-spider hybrid who towered over the group as it made an ominously unhurried approach. Mahanon ran ahead, and stopped only meters from the hovering form.

Avery gripped her staff and joined Anon. Bull put his horns down and looked like he was raring up for a charge. The others came forward to make a wall of bodies. She reached as deeply as she could into the sea of mana around her and pushed out a barrier, covering the men at her side with a forcefield stronger than anything she'd ever produced. She knew that would be her main job during the fight, as a death here would be permanent, same as if they were on the other side of the Veil. With a current of electricity running through the grip of her staff, she widened into an attack stance, waiting for the cue from Mahanon. When he finally gave a nod, the wall of bodies took their first step toward the Nightmare. She was looking forward to silencing that bastard, to making him pay for every horrific thought he'd put into her head. The next step they all took could have belonged to a single creature, the group moving in sync as it steeled itself for what they hoped would be the final assault.


	35. Chapter 35

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only three more chapters, though I might have to push it out to four. I know it seems like it's not really wrapping up, but it is. *sigh*
> 
> Happy Holidays to everyone!

Avery sat on the Adamant steps with her head in her hands. The demon whispers that had been filling her thoughts were now replaced by new worries, stealing away any possibility of enjoying the silence. Everything that had happened in the last hour replayed before her closed eyes in a stream of surreal imagery. Hawke and Stroud both faced Anon after a battle that had nearly brought them all to their knees. Someone had to stay behind in the Fade, to clear a path up to the breach. Stroud stepped up fearlessly, accepting responsibility for the Wardens' actions. Hawke had stood frozen until the moment became awkward. Stay behind in the Fade to keep the demon at bay so the others could escape? That would mean never seeing Cullen again for certain. It would mean Cullen potentially lost to lyrium, if he still lived. It would mean never seeing Fenris again, never holding a child with blonde curls and amber eyes, never laughing with Varric over a game of Wicked Grace and a bottle of whiskey. But it might also mean finally rejoining her family.

Eventually, Hawke's conscience kicked in, and she'd stepped forward. For all her decrying the Wardens, she finally remembered the full truth of the matter. Corypheus wouldn't have been able to manipulate the Wardens in the first palce if she'd just made sure he was truly dead in that prison in the Vimmarks. All the blame she'd been assigning to Stroud really belonged to her, and her alone.

"No. Corypheus was my failure," she'd admitted reluctantly. "Not the Wardens."

Still, Anon looked at her with sadness. She'd heard Bull clear his throat behind her, and tap on something below his neck. It took a moment to recognize what she was looking at. A shiny, bleached sliver of bone, handing from a strip of leather around Bull's neck. Could it be? Was that the bone she'd given to Anon after the bear attack?

The sullen nod from Anon seemed to confirm it. It was Stroud's name he said. Stroud would stay behind. He was still there that very moment, if he was still alive at all.

Adamant had been unnaturally still upon their return. A small group of Wardens remained, accompanied by a cluster of Inquisition soldiers who were dragging the dead bodies into piles. The hall smelled like death, and immediately Avery had run ahead, her eyes catching every face they passed, seeking Cullen's. She sprinted through the fortress until there was no breath left in her lungs, but he was nowhere to be found. With a heart of lead, her eyes turned to the piles of bodies stacked by the entryway, but she had not been allowed to linger over them. Anon swept her back up within the group and every remaining body gathered at the site of the ritual. There were words spoken among the men, but she heard little. She only heard the ominous thumping of her own heart in her ears as each new face that came into view revealed itself to be a stranger.

But Cullen was not dead.

"Erimond was recovered in the rubble, still alive. Neither Adamant or the Keep have dungeons, and Cullen was too weak to keep him silenced by himself. It was the only way to keep Erimond subdued," a soldier explained. His face blurred before her.

"Too weak?" she asked numbly.

"The Commander was injured, Ser. He took a blade to the shoulder, and we were without a healer."

"No healer? What happened to the other mages? Cullen said there was about a dozen of them?" she asked.

"None of them lived, Ser."

Avery heard little else, even when Anon called her name from somewhere far behind. She stumbled away and found her path interrupted by a case of stairs. Avery dropped onto them, feeling deeply cold in the sandy desert wind.

He was well enough to travel, she told herself. But he had no healer accompanying him, only potions. Potions would stave off infection, would mend soft tissues. As long as no bones were broken, then numerous draughts of healing potion could heal him completely. But apparently that hadn't happened.

Anon appeared, and sat silently beside her.

"What kind of a fortress doesn't have dungeons!?" she asked, bewildered. Anon took a breath.

"One that doesn't take prisoners? These were built for the Wardens weren't they? It's not like they're going to hold some darkspawn for questioning," Anon eventually answered. Avery scowled at her boots. Of course that was the likely answer.

"The Commander will be fine. I'm sure he wouldn't have left you if he didn't have a choice," said Anon. "But he'll be fine. He's strong. He's survived far worse than this hasn't he?"

Avery snorted.

"I don't know. I don't know how bad it is. No one seems to be able to give me any details!"

"I'm sure it was chaos afterward," Anon said, keeping his voice soft. "But he'll be okay Hawke. Trust your Maker. He helps your kind, right?"

His thumb moved in soothing circles over her arm. It was strange to be the one being comforted by him. She appreciated it, despite the fact that his words were impossible to accept.

"Do you think they'll come back? Are they just taking Erimond somewhere else with a dungeon maybe?" she asked, a glimmer of hope sparking in her chest for the first time.

Anon was ominously quiet.

"We don't know of any that won't take him far out of the way. My understanding is that they are rendezvousing with another group of Templars, who can share the duty of keeping Erimond subdued until they reach the camp on the outskirts of the Approach. It's the closest one we know that has a supply of magebane, and is near a known healer.

Avery felt her eyes stinging.

"If it was that urgent for him to leave, without knowing where I was and if we'd be back, then his injury must be severe. If he couldn't even wait until he knew…" her words were cutoff as a hiccup sobbed into her throat. She shook her head. No, this was no time for despair.

"So when can we leave?" she asked, clearing her throat, "we need to go as soon as possible if we are to have any chance of catching up with him. How long have they even been gone? How long were _we_ gone?"

Anon sighed and his back stiffened. Avery's blood turned cold at the sight, but she tried to shake that away too. Her body and emotions seemed to be running on overdrive. She'd never keep awake for the ride back to Cullen if she didn't try to relax, stop overreacting to everything. Maker she was tired.

"Warden Jerath says the sun should be rising very soon. The last group of soldiers and Wardens left about three hours ago."

"Three hours ago!? In the dark!? So late at night!?" she asked as she wiped an errant tear off her gritty cheeks. "Well then we should go. I hope you're right in inviting the Wardens back to Skyhold. They're still vulnerable you know. We don't know if Stroud killed Nightmare completely or just held him off long enough for us to escape. He could still be out there, still trying again to get inside the Wardens' minds,"

She stood and stretched the aches out of her back, pulling sore cramps from each of her weary muscles. Anon pulled on her leathers urging her to sit again. He looked up at her with a stone cold expression. For a moment she saw nothing of the softness he'd displayed on moments before.

"Sit, Hawke," he said.

Avery hesitated a moment and stifled a groan. More of her ready to go and Anon wanting to take his time. She sighed and then sat.

"Did you not hear anything we discussed back there?" he asked, nodding toward the Hall. Avery thought for a moment, and then shook her head. She was watching for Cullen, searching the bodies for his distinctive red and black attire. She'd seen nor heard much of anything else.

"You're going on to Weisshaupt," he said. "Directly from here. I'm sorry, but you're the best person to do it."

No words came to Avery in response. She looked at him blankly, her mind refusing to process the meaning of what he'd just said. He couldn't possibly mean that she couldn't go to Cullen. Not now, not with Cullen injured. The silence stretched long and heavy between them.

"Take as many Inquisition soldiers as you want. The rest of the Wardens will ride along with me and the others."

Avery shook her head. She almost laughed. He couldn't possibly be saying these things.

" _Directly_ … from here?" she repeated finally, her throat beginning to close up as she spoke.

"That's right. I'm sorry. I'm sure Cullen will be fine. But we don't have any time to spare, and we need you to go, deliver the news, and get back to Skyhold as soon as possible," he said.

"No," she said simply. No, not only was she not going to Weishaupt right away, but she was leaving, with or without Anon, to go find Cullen, to heal him, to reassure him and herself that he would be okay. That nothing had been lost. That he wasn't angry with her for endangering him and then disappearing while he suffered. She shook her head. "No," she said again.

"You're the best person for it, Hawke. The other Wardens need to know what happened here, and I don't trust sending a group of other Wardens to deliver an unbiased account, do you? Especially if Nightmare is still alive?"

Avery laughed, a colder laugh than she intended. She hoped it would break him, that he'd laugh too and shrug, say the jig was up. But he didn't. He had his Inquisitor face on, the one he'd worn in the War room. She squinted her eyes at him, completely at a loss as to how this man could be so mercurial. Was this the real reason he'd saved her from the Fade? He didn't want to send Stroud to Wiesshaupt?

"So send Dorian. He has no attachments, does he? He knows as much of the story as I do," she offered.

"No he doesn't. You've already battled Corypheus yourself. You saw what he was capable of in the Vimmarks, how he affected Anders. You have a much greater understanding of what Corypheus is capable of than almost anyone else here besides me. You saw long ago how he can get into the Wardens' heads," Anon said. His tone was unmistakable. He had made his mind up. She couldn't deny any of the points he was making, but the timing couldn't be worse

"But… I'll write it all down! Tell the whole story, anything they could possibly think of to ask about. I'll start right now, I just need some parchment and—"

"Hawke," Anon said sternly.

Her shoulders slumped. She could only think of Cullen. Of her beautiful husband, looking down at her with loving eyes. In a flash the image transformed into one of him writhing in agony, blood spilling from his mouth the same as the Nightmare had suggested. The image seemed so vivid, so real, even though she'd not gotten the impression from the soldiers that it had been that bad.

"Mahanon, you can't ask me to do this." Warmth streamed down her cheeks, and dripped off her chin. She hadn't been able to help it. Anon squeezed her arm again, his eyes losing the cold hardness she'd seen there just seconds before.

"I'm sorry Hawke," he said. "But I'm not _asking_."

Avery turned away as she struggled to contain her roiling emotions. She wanted to hit Anon again. But she could just as easily collapse at his feet and begin to beg. When she'd joined the Inquisition officially, this was precisely what she was signing up for, wasn't it? To be at his command. To be obliged to obey. And with every second they sat there wasting time Cullen got further and further away. Was that other healer really closer than she was? They'd been gone for hours, traveling through the darkness, the dangerous black valleys of the Western Approach that streamed with darkspawn and beasts out of a horror novel. The combination of his injury and the urgency of securing his prisoner had forced him to depart before he learned the fate of his wife. But what if it was more than that? What if he truly was angry that she'd gotten him hit? Not killed, but injured, surely. But she'd done it out of a desire to help. That's all she ever wanted to do, really. But her help didn't always end up helping anyone did it? More often than not it just hurt people, resulted in failures that other people paid for. Like the citizens of Kirkwall. Like Stroud. Like Cullen himself. All at once her warring emotions drained away. She sat quietly, a defeated, empty shell.

"I recommend not taking too many soldiers," Anon continued. "A large group will slow you down. Adamant is well provisioned and none of the Wardens are staying behind, so help yourself to whatever you think you may need. Stay safe, Hawke. Come back to us as soon as you can."

She was galloping away from Adamant when the sun finally rose. She'd chosen a young, dark brown stallion from the Warden's stall of horses, and filled her pack with dried meats and a sack of bread. A couple bottles of a cheap Fereldan rum clinked around just under her pack's drawstrings. Behind her followed two Inquisition soldiers, chosen because of their weapon specialties. A tall, slender woman with red hair and freckled cheeks was an accomplished archer, while a bulky, dark haired man wielded a broadsword with ease. They'd been standing quietly to the rear of the hall, and they followed her with no complaint. She was glad that they seemed as uninterested in talking as she was.

Her eyelids drooped mercilessly, as though tethered to weights. The lack of sleep and hard night fighting had left her hollowed out, and a few times she jolted awake to find she'd ridden several paces off course as she fell asleep still upright on her horse. Still, she'd already wasted enough time. She'd started out with the intention of following the tracks in the sand back to Cullen, with Anon's orders be damned. But the tracks were too numerous. Some, she knew, would lead back to Griffin Wing Keep. And the Keep was neither on the way back to the outskirts camp, nor toward the only path they knew that would take them across a narrow section of the Abyssal rift. Some of the tracks ended abruptly, washed away by the powerful wind. She gave up in her attempt to find Cullen quickly. If she disobeyed Mahanon now she'd be banned from Skyhold for sure. There was no way a whole army of men would keep her visit to Cullen a secret. And with the vast wasteland that surrounded her, stretching empty from horizon to horizon in every direction, it was clear that it would throw her at least a could days off course to the Anderfels anyway.

So instead she said a quiet prayer to the Maker, and issued a promise to Cullen that she would write him at the very first opportunity. Then she turned her party north, following the landscape markers that were supposed to lead her to the crossing of the rift.

There were no more camps on the other side of the rift, at least not Inquisition held. They'd cleared out a small camp inhabited by a few wandering Venatori, and then drained the dead men's water supply before continuing on. The map she held showed Orlais stretched out before them, for more endless weeks of travel once they'd finally exited the approach. She knew there were Inquisition camps further north, and where there was an Inquisition camp there were couriers and rookeries. There might be news, word of Cullen's condition. But beyond that, mountains. A massive network of mountain ranges that would take considerable time and effort to cross, unless they wanted to swing East into Tevinter and go around them. But Weisshaupt itself was in the mountains. Where, exactly she did not know. She'd have to commission a local guide to take her there. She bore a scroll notarized and signed by a Warden to serve as permission to seek out their headquarters, and give her rights to enter. The trip would easily take longer than it had taken to get from Skyhold to Griffin Wing Keep. And the return trip would be double that again, or more. An infinite, empty future stretched before her. Away from her new home, away from her husband. She felt her head loll about on her neck as her horse galloped over dune and rocks. She felt the top of her head burn as the sun reached its zenith in the sky. She felt her sore, exhausted muscles begin to cramp as they were jostled about over the rough landscape. She felt the weight of loneliness trying to drown her heart in despair.

When she felt her body begin to slide off the horse, and she wasn't sure she could stop herself from tumbling off, she pulled on the reins and brought the horse to a stop. There was still an hour of daylight, but she couldn't possibly continue on. She slipped off the horse and promptly found herself in a pile on the ground.

"Are you alright?" asked the red-haired woman, who'd dismounted quickly and rushed her aid. Avery only stared at her boots. The world swam around her head, and her body felt like it was still in motion even as she sat in a crumple. The man's hands were as bulky as the rest of him, and he pulled her to her feet effortlessly, and settled her again under the shade of a nearby tree.

A tree? She looked up at the canopy of sparse leaves. The tree looked as parched and shriveled as she felt, but at least they'd traveled far enough to find a true, honest to goodness _tree_.

It felt safe to allow herself to rest now. They'd made incremental progress in the nearly impossible task she'd been given. They'd ridden hard and far, and though it had only been one day, it might as well have been a lifetime. The two soldiers pitched a tent, and she limped over to it. She was asleep almost as quickly as she hit her bedroll.

Morning broke with a blinding fury, and Avery woke with hammers pounding away inside her head. She needed water, desperately. Scrambling out of her tent, her muscles screamed in agony. She was sore, tired and severely dehydrated. But she'd slept through the night, and there was another brutal day ahead. Every day ahead would be brutal until she was back at Skyhold, that much she knew. But the urgency would hopefully be lessened somewhat whenever they finally returned to civilization. News, letters, the ability to communicate with Skyhold. That would help a little. That was what was important.

The two soldiers — she'd already forgotten their names— continued to sleep soundly, and Avery decided she would let them for a little while longer. She knew the soldiers were conditioned to endure all sorts of rigorous activity, but with as hard as she needed to ride to get this all over with, the better off they'd be with as much rest as she could grant them. She crawled over to the blackened remnants of the fire the two had built the night before, and she opened a skin of water to drink until her stomach was on the verge of bursting. The water was warm, still holding the heat from the day before, but it was wet and refreshing. It sloshed down her neck and trickled into her collar as she gulped until the skin was empty. She sat and gazed up at the brilliant blue sky. There was not a cloud in sight. It was going to be a terribly hot day.

Avery located her stationery and dipped a quill. She couldn't believe she'd waited so long to compose a letter. She knew she couldn't send it, but she could have it ready for the moment she finally could. She'd have many letters ready by then. She barely knew where to begin, so she took a breath and dove in.

_Cullen,_

_By now you know that I am safely out of the Fade, but have been ordered to deliver the news of Adamant fortress to the remaining Wardens at Weisshaupt. There was nothing I could say to Mahanon to change his mind. I hate him for this. I hate him for how I can never count on what he is going to do or say. But that really doesn't matter to me, at least not more than news of your condition. There was so little they could tell me before I was sent along. They said you were injured. You took a blade. It was that axe wasn't it? Maker's fuck. It's all my fault. I am so sorry. I am so desperately sorry. I shouldn't have interfered. I should have trusted that you could handle yourself. You probably knew about the mage sneaking up behind you, didn't you? I only wanted to help. I only wanted you to be safe. I hate Anon for sending me away before I could see you for myself. I hate Erimond for still being alive. I wish they'd have just killed him. Surely that will be his fate at judgment anyway. Why wait? After all that he did? Is it just for show? That bloody bastard. I'd kill him myself if I could._

_Maker's breath Cullen. I don't know why all this had to happen. But I am coming back, as quickly as I can. I will deliver the bloody news that I have to and then I am coming home. I am coming back for you my love. Please know that I am thinking of you every moment. I am counting every second. I love you I love you I love you._

_Your wife._

Avery didn't realize the tears had come again until one dripped down onto the parchment in her hands. She reread the letter, and realized wearily that her handwriting was almost illegibly sloppy. Grains of sand stuck to the ink. And there was so much more than that she felt she needed to say. But everything else seemed pointless.

She sniffled as she gently blew the ink dry, and then rolled the parchment up into a scroll. There was only one free pocket in her pack, and the scroll would likely get crushed within it. Still, there was nowhere else for it to go.

After another moment of silence, she reopened her pack, and dug through for her rations. Breakfast. She'd eat, get some calories in her system and then wake the other two and get ready to begin another new day of travel.

The dried meat felt like shoe leather between her teeth, and she had to double check to be sure she hadn't truly pulled out a shoe by accident. It was tough, and chewy, and it went down her throat as thought it had sprouted claws. She dug deeper into her pack for her flask, deciding to fill it full of some of the cheap rum, and keep it on her to help numb the upcoming day. But just below the empty flask was her portfolio. Cullen's portfolio. It was really all she had of him, besides her ring. Besides her memories. Ignoring the flask she pulled out the leather folder instead. She nodded. Yes, a few letters from Cullen. Just to give her a taste of him. That would be better than the rum anyway. Just a letter, maybe two, and then she'd wake the other two and learn their names, and maybe have a proper introductory conversation. And then they'd be on their way again.

_Avery,_

_It didn't take long for the conflict to come to Kirkwall. The declaration of war issued at the Conclave brought this city's mages out of hiding, and many of the men below me are anxious to begin chasing after them, no matter how forcefully I urge restraint. Since the order to apprehend mages came from the Seekers, who are technically over my head, it seems that the demands of the Knight-Commander are more and more beginning to fall on deaf ears. At least with those restless young men who glamourize battle, or who only joined the Order in the first place to satisfy their own radical, anti-mage desires. It still astounds me that so many of them have already forgotten what happened here just three years ago. The zealous rhetoric that is running rampant is dangerous, and to be honest, I find it increasingly frightening._

_Three years? Maker, have you really been gone that long? It doesn't seem possible. But it is._

_At any rate, Cassandra has offered me an invitation that I can't stop thinking about, especially with this new mage conflict plaguing my conscience and causing disorder in my ranks. I wake in the morning and can scarcely bear the thought of facing a new day. My greatest fear, and darkest hope, is that I might see you within one of these groups of apostates. While I would give anything to see you again, I know I would not be able to keep my composure in front of my men. Especially if it came down to trying to fight or capture you. But in my heart, I know that you are smart enough to say far away from this conflict, that you are probably hiding your magic and laying low somewhere. I think about you more and more lately. Especially since Cassandra has suggested I might leave the Templars and join her in her endeavors. Leaving the Templars is not something that many men are known to have done willingly. But I already almost did it once. For you._

_Still, I must confess that the thought of separating myself from the Order is both frightening and exhilarating. I have known only the Templars since I was thirteen. I don't know what it's like to just be a common man, free from duty and restraint. No, actually, that's not entirely true. I had a taste of it once, didn't I? In a little mountain town for a few days, after learning of yet another horrific act perpetrated on an innocent by my fellow Templars. We rarely left our room there, but when we did I wasn't the Knight-Captain or Knight-Commander, or the holder of any official title. I was simply Cullen, and you were Avery and we were in love. I have spent so much time dwelling within that memory. If freedom could be the way it was when I was there with you, then I wouldn't be afraid at all._

_But it's been three years now and everything is so very different. ._

_It would be a shame of course, to lose all that I have spent my life working for. My title is truly all I have, and I would have to leave it behind. But after seeing so much of the Order from the inside, after feeling caged into this life with no prospect of freedom, I wonder if I might find a more fulfilling purpose if I strike out on my own. Indeed, the more I think about it, the more I feel compelled to try. Though on the other hand, I know that if I leave Kirkwall, I also leave behind any possibility that you might find me again some day. And damnit do I feel pathetic for still entertaining that possibility. It's been three years! If you were going to come back for me, you would have done so by now. Surely you aren't out there somewhere expecting that you could just waltz back here and I'd welcome you home with open arms. Especially after the way I left things at the Gallows. I am sure you've moved on. Perhaps if I leave Kirkwall myself, I might finally be able to move on, too._

_Stay safe my love, wherever you are,_

_Cullen_

She was right. Reading his words again went straight to her heart, especially since he'd returned to more declarations of love. It seemed so unlikely, so miraculous, that after the short time they'd spent together in Kirkwall, that he would still be feeling and writing words such as these three years later. He was correct that she never would have expected it. Of course he'd made it clear he'd 'admired' her for way longer than she'd expected too. It made her heart ache to know that she'd wasted so much time with Anders and Fenris, when he was quietly eying her all along.

"Cullen," she whispered as she touched the words on the page. He'd crafted those words with his very hands, drawn from his heart. The need to know that he was well was overpowering, and her vision flooded with tears. She shook it away and took a shaky breath. As overwhelming as it was, it also seemed to give her strength. For all her faults and failures, he loved her. She put the page back and put out the next. One more, she told herself. Just one.

_My darling,_

_I've done it. After a week of violence that had the Order seemingly dissolving into chaos, I tendered my resignation and sent it to the Chantry, and Cassandra sent along a copy to the Seekers. It is as intimidated as I expected, but also such a relief! I knew of course that I had been increasingly unhappy in my position, pandering to those condescending hypocrites. But Maker, I did not expect the immense weight that has been lifted off my shoulders. The whole world seems wide open to me now._

_A surprisingly large number of my men followed me as I boarded the boat to leave the Gallows on my last day. I thought perhaps Rylen might, and he did. But so many others did too, but more than I anticipated. They simply walked away from their post. I suppose it's easy to do since we are forbidden from having much in the way of personal belongings. So, unexpectedly, I somehow have found myself with quite a large entourage of followers. All I could think to do in the moment was encourage them all to visit their families for a while, and we will all meet up again in Ferelden. Cassandra thinks it's perfect. She anticipates the eventual need to begin collecting our own forces. She is quite an ambitious one, and I don't doubt for a moment that she will see all her plans through. Rylen has taken quite a shine to her, in fact. I wish I could tell whether she likes him back, but she is a hard one to read in that respect. I think you'd probably really like her._

_Yesterday morning Cassandra and I boarded a ship, and I am desperately regretting that choice. Not leaving the Templars; that is a decision that I am happier with in each moment that passes. But in boarding this blighted floating torture chamber. I'd forgotten how tight the quarters can be below deck on a ship. There is no air down there. And it's getting cold again. But still, I'd rather shiver on the deck than suffocate down below._

_All this time with nothing to do while we wait out the sea crossing, staring out at the water the same as we did on the ledge, has me thinking more about you than ever. I had been expecting that this change might help me to move on, but your name comes up so often now. Your dwarf friend is here, brought along seemingly against his will by Cassandra. She's convinced he knows where you are, and she remains determined to find you to help us. I admit that I am a little bit afraid of what might happen if she succeeds. It's likely that the whole truth would come out for everyone to know. But it turns out Varric is a stubborn one. I wouldn't put it past him to even mislead her, and send her off on false trails in her search. It is somehow both a relief and a disappointment. I know he is protecting you, and if he knows anything about us then he has given no indication. So I keep my mouth shut for the most part, and just listen. But there is so much I don't hear when they are below decks. Still, it is almost constant. Cassandra is reading his book about you, for the second time apparently, and frequently hounding with him questions. Hearing your name so often has ensured that you remain a permanent fixture in my mind lately, no matter what else I am doing._

_I even dreamt of you last night. Specifically the first night that we made love, in your bedroom after the bath. The dream was an almost perfect replica of the real night we shared, and I woke with tears in my eyes. Since this morning I have been replaying that night over and over again. It was that night that I knew my longtime infatuation with you was no fluke. I was in love with you, and I almost said so. You were laying naked beside me, and I watched a little bead of sweat as it slowly ran between your breasts. I caught it with my fingertip before it dripped off your belly. You opened your big blue eyes and looked at me. For a split second I was afraid you'd come to your senses and remember that I was a Templar, and a high ranking one at that, and that you should have nothing to do with me. But you only smiled and touched my face. You were, and still are, the most beautiful thing I have ever seen in my life Avery. I wanted to ask you what you were thinking, but I was afraid you might ask me what I was thinking in return. And there would be only one answer I could give. That I love you. I love you Avery. I love you still. You're the one for me, and you always were._

_I've made a decision that I've kept quiet from Cassandra and Varric. They are both looking for you, and soon I will be too. If I find you and you are well and settled and happy, I will leave you be and join Varric in keeping your secret. But if, well if anything remains in your heart for me, then perhaps you might be persuaded to come with me and join Cassandra and I as she has been hoping. I want to get to you first, and alone. In order to attempt this I have told Cassandra that once we disembark in Ferelden, I will finally be tracking down my sisters and paying them a visit. And afterward I will meet up with her and the other Templars. I've been thinking about it during these long hours at sea, and my gut tells me that you're probably in Ferelden right now. It was your home, after all, same as it was mine. I imagine that after three years of being on the run, you might get tired of wandering around Thedas and want to find refuge somewhere familiar. At least, if it were me that would be the case, and my home country is where I would want to go. There are probably people there from your past, your childhood. People who would help you and give you shelter. And the best place to truly blend in and lay low would likely be a big city where you could get lost in the crowd. So I have a bit of a plan in place. I hope that if all else fails, it might at least bring me some closure. Two days from now, when I get off this bloody ship, I will be traveling to Denerim to find you. I hope you're there. Maker's breath, please be there._

_._

_Cullen_

Avery gasped and reread the last paragraph. Varric had written her right before he'd boarded the ship. He'd said nothing then about Cullen, only about the Seeker that had interrogated him for two solid days at knifepoint. And Cullen was correct. She was still in Denerim then, and had been for weeks after. That's _exactly_ where she was.


	36. Chapter 36

_Avery,_

_Denerim looks so much different than I remember, but I suppose that should be expected after how long it has been. The last time I was here I was a child, and it seemed so overwhelming to me then compared to our little Honnleath. It's no Kirkwall either, which you'd think should be a compliment. Except everything here is rather unorganized; you walk a few blocks and there's no telling what kind of people or businesses you'll find. I keep expecting more order to this place, but finding mostly chaos._

_You might not be surprised to learn that I've spent most of my first day in this city visiting the taverns. Knowing how much time you spent in The Hanged Man makes me wonder if you'd seek a similar refuge here, and since this is where people go to just sit and kill time anyway it seems like the best place to start. I am guessing that you'd choose a tavern in the seedier part of town where people know how to keep their heads down and mouth shut. The Gnawed Noble was a little too full of uniforms, and the tavern closest to the eastern gates of the city was populated almost entirely by farmers and tradesmen. After dropping a few silvers I managed to get someone to give me the location of an unmarked tavern accessible only by a back alley. It's a dark, dirty place called the Copper Fence, and it certainly does not deserve the presence of someone as resplendent as yourself. I half expected when I walked through the door that you'd stick out like a beacon in the dark. Alas, the tavern is a labyrinthine construct, with a spacious front bar that distracts from the two narrow halls that wind into several other smaller, awkwardly shaped spaces. Nooks and corners are abundant, with rooms which are kept excessively dim, and the stairs to the second floor are not easy to find. I am told there is a third floor as well, but not have located the way to it yet. I dressed in the shabbiest attire that I could find, but I still feel like everyone is snickering at me. I imagine that it's immediately apparent that I don't belong here._

_I've been nursing this ale for almost two hours and it's grown quite warm, but it's impossible to see the entire place from one location because of how narrow and windy everything is. I've gotten up and walked through it a few times, only to return to my seat in front. I am unsure of whether I should bother asking people if they'd seen anyone with your description. I have no doubt that everyone would lie to me if they did know you, but perhaps some of my coin might persuade someone to talk. Still, I have not attempted it yet. I might not even be in the right place. The longer I sit here the more I worry that I was completely off base in coming here in the first place. Is Denerim too obvious a place for you to be hiding out? The chances are slim that you are even in this city, much less this specific tavern. But I am running on pure instinct right now. I can't deny that it feels good to be doing something, even if what I am doing yields no results. I miss you. I am nervous about the possibility of seeing your face, and of seeing you looking happy with someone else. My hands are shaking and I feel like a fool. What if you have no interest in seeing me? What if you find my presence to be an unwelcome intrusion?_

_Maker guide me. I hope this isn't all wrong._

_Cullen_

 

 

_Avery_

_The room I rented from this place is tiny. Entirely too tiny for my comfort. It was bad enough sitting in those stifling rooms downstairs all day, and then they give me quarters that are no more than a glorified closet. And what they are charging for this room! Maker's breath. It should be a crime to extort such a rate for such a paltry space!_

_Its one blessing is that it has a window with a view of the streets. I can see everyone walking below pretty clearly, so I am perched here at the window sill, watching the passersby, looking for a shock of black hair and pale skin. My thoughts are with you almost constantly. I confess I've had a bit of a fantasy running through my head for most of the day. I come upon you alone at a table and sit down without saying anything. You are surprised of course, but your eyes grow warm as you look at me. I take your hand and tell you everything. That I came to find you, that I'm not a Templar anymore, that I should have left with you like we planned, that I have never been able to get you out of my head, despite the fact that it's been three bloody years. That I miss you. That I need to know if there is anything left in your heart for me, and if there's not, just say the word and you'll never see me again. In my fantasy you cut me off with a kiss. I get to taste your lips again, and smell your hair, and feel the warmth of your body under my palms. And then we're together again, as though we've never been apart. It's silly, I know. It feels even sillier to write it down. Maker's breath, I should probably just burn this letter. If nothing comes of this trip, I might do just that. I might burn them all._

_It's cold here, much colder than it ever got in Kirkwall. Hopefully tomorrow yields better luck. I want to believe that you're close. I almost feel that you are, that my heart is telling me that you are nearby. But I am afraid that might just be wishful thinking. I don't know._

_Goodnight my love, wherever you are,_

_Cullen_

 

 

Avery pulled the letter away from her face, unaware until that moment that her cheeks were warm and wet. She knew the Copper Fence. She'd stayed at the Copper Fence nearly every night she was in Denerim. Cullen's instincts had been right on the money. And they'd been there at the same time.

But how was that even bloody possible!? She'd mostly kept her head down, made a point not to meet anyone's eye. Her hooded cloak had become a bit of a uniform. The table she and Fenris usually took was toward the back, a small two seater in one of the dimmest corners, located at the end of one of those narrow, windy halls. It was well out of sight of the front door and the hallways with the highest traffic, which was precisely why she'd chosen it. Her heart was crashing against her chest as she wiped the tears from her cheeks.

She couldn't help but picture the scene Cullen described in his fantasies. Would it have gone the way he'd imagined it? If he'd come across her sitting alone in the tavern, which happened regularly since Fenris was constantly darting about looking for supplies or jobs or anything that looked remotely like the work of slavers… If he had sat down beside her would she quiet his pleas with a kiss?

She closed her eyes and ignored the persistent ache of her heart as she put herself in the moment. Those dark rooms in the Copper Fence, the smell of sour sweat and old vomit. The people pointedly ignoring everyone else around them. She saw Cullen lowering himself into a rickety wooden seat, a flagon of warm ale in his hand, his face difficult to see in the dim light, but his brown eyes sparkling with a cautious hope. The words he'd written in the letter. _I should have left with you like we planned. I miss you. If there is anything left in your heart for me…_

It was impossible to imagine that it wouldn't have gone the way that he said. She would have taken his hand. Would have felt that old wound deep inside her rip back open, unleashing a torrent of emotions that had never allowed themselves to be buried as deeply as she wanted. She might be angry for a moment, but it would pass. Because the truth of the matter was clear even then, loathe as she was to admit it. That was the sad fact that if there was anything that three years on the road had taught her, it was that there was no other man in Thedas that compared to Cullen.

Yes. She would have grabbed a hold of him then, and never let go again. A warm sadness settled deep in Avery's gut. The lost opportunity they'd had, that extra year they could have been together, before Anon, before Corypheus, could never be retrieved. But it would be mourned. Mourned like the loss of a child, or a parent. It felt like a cut that went just as deep. She would likely mourn for as long as it took to get back home.

Avery quickly flipped through the letters. There weren't many left, but the next few pieces of parchment seemed to contain multiple letters crammed onto the same page. Cullen must have been short on paper while he was in Denerim. As she replaced the pages back into the portfolio, a yawn came on with unexpected foce, blurring her eyes even further and making the words on the page blend into softly wavering lines. As desperate as she was to know more about how they'd missed each other, she'd already been up for hours past when her companions had retired to their tents.

Not long ago, she was certain she'd heard tent flaps open and quiet footsteps going from one tent to the other. The quiet looks being passed between her two companions, Cassie and Kilborn, had been happening for sometime now. After being on the road together for so many weeks, Avery was on the verge of asking them why they didn't just give up the pretense and just share a tent already. It's not like she couldn't hear them together, and she certainly knew what it was like to be in their shoes. If they were afraid of her disapproval, they had no reason to be. She was actually quite glad the pretty redhead and the bulky warrior had developed such an affinity for each other. It took the pressure off Avery to entertain them with idle chit-chat. And it was better than traveling with two who were constantly fighting.

Before finally drawing her pack closed, she situated the Warden decree for entry into Weisshaupt at the top. They'd spent the last two days in the foothills of the Anderfels, and tomorrow was the day she was finally going to seek a guide to take them the rest of the way.

Despite her overwhelming exhaustion, sleep did not come easily. The darkness twisted into warped shadows, and though every cell in her body felt incapable of movement, her brain was racing. They'd left the northernmost Orlesian camp over two weeks ago. It was the last Inquisition camp they'd see until their return trip. Before departing on their last morning there, she'd stood before an Inquisition officer and asked him the same questions she'd been asking at every camp, and that she'd already asked a different officer the night before.

"Are you sure there are no letters for me? Nothing at all from the Commander? What about the Inquisitor? Is there any news?"

Like each camp they'd visited in the 84 days since she, Kilborn and Cassie had left Adamant, the officer just stood before her with an expression of dumbfounded helplessness. She was beyond tired of the constant shoulder shrugs and "I'm sorry Ser"s. The frustration pulsed through her like a raging tide. It was inconceivable that Cullen wouldn't write. Not after he'd spent _four bloody years_ writing to her even when he had no where to send the letters. Avery stomped away with fists clenched, but inside her heart was dissolving into a puddle. She couldn't even fathom where she'd be if she didn't have the portfolio to give her some comfort.

There had only been one piece of news, delivered at the second to last camp by a stone faced elf.

"The Inquisitor and his advisors have taken quite a large battalion of soldiers to the Arbor wilds."

"The advisors?"

"That's right, Ser."

"So… that includes the Commander?" Avery asked. She'd been able to glean almost nothing in the way of details about Cullen's injury from the camp guards, and though no one had said Cullen was fine outright, at least none had spoken of him in the past tense. This elf looked at her as though she must have had the intellect of a child.

"That's right. He _is_ an advisor, Ser."

 

 

The guide who accepted her scroll in a shabby hillside cabin was, to Avery's surprise, a dwarf. Russet haired and taciturn, he answered almost all questions with a grunt or a nod. She could only guess it was the heat and the distance from his people that soured his mood so. Avery shared an exhausted shrug with her companions and mounted her horse to follow the man through a brown mountain valley. As much as she loathed the knowledge that there were more high-altitude passes to traverse, at least the elevation would bring some relief from the increasingly oppressive heat. And unlike all 84 of the previous days of travel, she was no longer the one navigating. She let her horse trample along behind the dwarf guide and finally let her brain fuzz out of the present moment.

What reason would there be for Cullen not to write? Could he truly have been angry? Surely he'd gotten the full story from any of the others who were there with her. If Anon hadn't offered it, then Dorian would have explained. It made no sense at all that even though she had a handful of letters to hand off to the camp and town couriers at every stop they made, she'd yet to receive a single one in response.

There must have been some other problem. Somehow her letters were being delayed? Or maybe his were. Maybe the blade to the shoulder had been on his writing arm. Maybe he was physically unable to write. And of course there was no one in Skyhold he'd trust enough to dictate such a personal letter too. Perhaps Rylen, if he were there, but Rylen remained back at Griffin's Wing Keep. But Cullen had to have known how badly she needed a letter from him, even if it was cleaned up a bit due to the presence of an assistant writer.

Avery shook her head, her brows beginning to ache. He spent so much time at his desk, signing off on reports and composing orders to be delivered to distant camps. If he was incapable of writing, his ability to do his very job would be compromised. It seemed unlikely, but was the most promising excuse she'd come up with yet. Still, it remained a mystery. There had to have been some reason, but she had know why to know what it truly was.

The thought that she might be being punished by him made her stomach lurch with nausea. But the Cullen she knew would not do such a thing. Still, her insecurity grew with every day that no letter from him appeared.

The mountain passes were crossed with closed eyes, her fingers gripping tightly to the reins of her horse. It took effort not to clamp her hips down too hard as she shifted with each step of the mount below her. But slowly, progress was being made and the heat was fading. As they climbed higher and higher in elevation, the air grew dry, sapping any remaining moisture from her lips and her skin. Her eyes began to burn, and the new coolness in the air did little to soothe the sting.

When finally the first mountain camp was made, Avery left Kilborn and Cassie to tend to the fire and slipped over to a rock several paces away, pulling out the portfolio to make use of the last bit of evening light.

 

 

_Avery,_

_Maker's breath, I got no sleep last night. I woke as I usually do, but the moonlight streaming through my window illuminated the walls of my room, and I went instantly into a panic at the tightness of the space. I jumped out of bed and found myself outside on the street in short order. Somehow I remembered to grab my boots, but that was all. I ended up walking the streets during the wee morning hours in only my nightclothes._

_Denerim at night a different world. The characters lurking in the shadows seemed of a completely different breed than those out during the day. I grew a little nervous at the realization that I had no sword or any means of protection at all while wandering around in my tunic and breeches. It was the first time I found myself wishing for my Templar armor. Most street urchins knew better than to leer at a Templar, or at least they did in Kirkwall. Now that I am no longer the Knight-Commander, or a Templar at all, I am not quite sure how to relate to others, how to respond to all these suspicious and questioning looks. I am accustomed to a position of law enforcement, and of service. It has been my job for decades now not to mind my own business. Learning to do things differently has been a challenge to say the least, especially this late in my life. In the quiet darkness of the Denerim streets, I began to have doubts that I had made the right decision. But I know that is just fear talking. In the light of day, I mostly feel relief and gratitude. Still, the doubts trickled in with a disconcerting force last night. That was inevitable I suppose, and I did my best to stave them off. I know that what I need is to find a purpose again, something not tied to the hypocrites in the Order, to lyrium and the Chantry. For now, my purpose is you. It is us. I don't know how this search of mine will turn out, but if I leave here without you in several days time, I suppose I will devote all that I have to Cassandra's mission. Hers is a good one, one I agree with. Restoring sanity and a peace to a crazy, war torn world is possibly one of the most noble causes one could partake, if perhaps ostensibly foolish. Still, it is a service I could actually feel good about._

_But I pray every night that we might embark upon that service together. That any moment I might round a corner and see your face. I lie in bed and dream of you. I dream of kissing you, of holding you in my arms, of feeling you caressing my face like you used to do. If I don't find you, I fear I might never feel such love again._

_Cullen_

 

 

_Avery,_

_This morning I was on the street, just wandering, hoping to see or hear something useful, when I saw two Templars walking down a main avenue. One of them was a former subordinate, a man I'd transfered out of Kirkwall after several disturbing incidences. I may even have mentioned him in letters before. He was one who joined shortly after the Chantry explosion, one of many drawn to the Order out of a new vendetta against mages. A man such as him has probably enjoyed indulging in all sorts of abuses now that the mages have all begun fighting back and a war is officially on. I watched him for a while, and was absolutely certain that at one point I overheard him say "Champion of Kirkwall". Knowing this man's history, and trying not to be discovered myself, I managed to flank him and attempted to get close enough to overhear the discussion he was having with his partner. I heard him speak of you again, this time calling you by name. It was difficult to hear every word, but I was able to discern that he too thought you'd be at the Copper Fence. That he'd even had some kind of a tip that you were staying there. I was excited of course, though I wasn't confident that this tip was correct. I'd just spent a whole day and night there myself, and saw or heard nothing of you. Still, I followed him back to that tavern._

_The moment the Templars walked into the front room with the bar, every head in the place went down. The men took a stool and ordered an ale, and I took the table just behind them, trying to listen. They were looking around, but couldn't see anyone's face. I am a bit shocked that the place hasn't been raided, as it seemed pretty clear that nearly every patron has something to hide. But it is an effective hideout, that is without question. The Templars seemed to be oblivious to the fact that the tavern reached deep into the bowels of the building, and consisted of numerous rooms and floors. One by one people started getting up and disappearing into the dark hallways, but I stayed behind. I was certain they'd hear my heart crashing in my chest, or that I'd cough or sneeze, or do something to draw their attention. I figured that if my former subordinate he saw and recognized me, I'd have to be the Knight-Commander again, or at least pretend long enough to turn him away. Had I been able to adorn my old armor, I would have done so straight away. He'd probably laugh at me, in these ratty clothes. But what choice would I have, really?_

_Maker, the things I overheard that man say. He is despicable. Depraved. I knew I had a bad feeling about him the moment he stepped into the Gallows training yard. I was not at liberty to reject him outright after all the men I'd just lost fighting the mages in the Gallows, but if I had the option he would have been sent packing immediately. It is abhorrent that this man is still bearing the Templar crest and wielding a sword. He is precisely the type of man that should never be given Templar powers. And he was after you. Maker's breath, I could have broken his neck on the spot. But the possibility existed that he might actually know something. So I sat quietly._

_They'd singled out someone on the far side of the room, someone sitting with another man in the corner. He was wondering if it was you, but he was merely nodding toward a dark table with two hooded figures. I could see nothing of their faces, or anything even to indicate that either of them was a woman. The Templars' put down flagon after flagon of ale in less than an hour. He kept waxing poetic about all the things he was going to do to you before he finally ended your life. It took every ounce of strength in me not to run to my quarters on the second floor and grab my dagger. But I was loathe to let this snake out of my sight._

_Eventually they gave up, and after a drunken lap around the room (by then he was two sheets two the wind, and I doubt he could see me clearly) they left. I followed them to The Pearl. I waited for hours for them to reemerge, but they did not. I am now back at the Fence, sitting in one of the upper rooms. If only this blighted tavern wasn't so large, and such a confusion of rooms and hallways. I suppose that's why these people like it. You could sit here all day and never have a clue who was sharing a room on the other side of the walls._

_I am encouraged though, that these Templars received this tip. I have only asked a few around here about a person of your description, but their responses were rather hostile. Flashing coin at them only brought a moment's hesitation before they launched into insults and attacks, asking me who I was working for. It's clear that line of investigation isn't going to bring me results. So I will wait. I will sit here for a little while longer, and then I will try again to locate those Templar bastards. Perhaps if they truly do have information, they can lead me to you. One thing is certain, if you are nearby, it is imperative that I reach you before they do. I can only hope that if I fail, you hang them both up by their balls._

_Stay safe my love,_

_Cullen_

 

 

_Avery,_

_I am devastated to report that I have failed. Miserably. Cassandra and I will be venturing to a place called Haven in the next day or two, without you. I'll recount the story of the past few weeks as best as I can. Hopefully that at least can help me work out my lingering rage over the matter._

_It started with the Templars again. I sat in front of the The Pearl all day, my eyes drawn to every passing woman with dark hair and fair skin. As beautiful as so many of the citizens of Denerim are, none of them are you. Tnere were a few moments where my heart almost jumped out of my chest, but they were merely false alarms. So once again, I waited. Finally, after a morning of trying not to appear too much like a criminal awaiting his next victim, those two bastards stumbled out of the brothel. It was only noon, but they made a beeline for the Copper Fence and I followed again, and again managed to stay out of sight. I must say that I got pretty good at tailing them undetected. Perhaps in another life I too might have studied the arts of stealth._

_But at the Fence, things went sour quickly. Despite the early hour, the men skipped the ale and went straight for hard liquor. The bar cleared out, save for a few people here and there, as well as a couple at the very back, in nearly the same location as the two the Templars had singled out the day before. It seemed they were simply eager for a target, and less concerned about who that target might be. I could still see little in the way of the remaining patron's faces, so I know they saw even less than I did in their increasingly inebriated state. The Templars spotted me this time, but said little. I am certain I look nothing like the man they'd known years before, dressed as I was in dirty plainclothes and sitting in the shadows. The man's eyes lingered on me for one long second, and I readied myself for discovery, but then he turned around and continued drinking._

_This is where things get a little blurry. Several people streamed into the bar, either oblivious or unconcerned with the Templars. The now drunken Templar stood, hardly able to keep his balance, and began to yell at the new arrivals. He called your name, and spewed a bunch of foul threats until the new crowd dispersed. Then he spun and began addressing the people on the far side of the room. He yelled a few obscenities, including the line "there you are you bitch. I see you, Champion," and began stumbling toward the back of the tavern, clearly convinced you were back there. But the person turned and darted toward a back hallway. She had the curves of a woman, though she was also somehow painfully thin. There was no way he could know whether that was you, as even I couldn't tell. Those blighted hoods hide faces too well, especially when one clearly doesn't want to be seen. Regardless of who the poor girl was, they obviously did not deserve this drunkard's wrath. So I broke my flagon over the bastard's head. His companion came at me from behind, and there was a bit of a struggle. I relieved them of a few of their teeth, and managed to get the upper hand rather quickly thanks to the liquor in their system. But unfortunately, a few chairs were lost to the chaos, as well as at least two tables. Somehow, I managed to lay them both out on the floor and then tried to make my way through the wreckage to the hall toward the stairs. I am sure that I believed that the person they targeted couldn't possibly have been you, but the more I thought about it, the more I thought I saw a flash of jet black hair peaking out of the hood. The last thing I remember was making it halfway across the room, thinking that I needed to be certain it was someone else. At the very least I could make sure the poor girl wasn't too shaken._

_The next thing I remember was waking up on the floor of a urine stained jail cell with a bloody gash on the back of my head. I instantly went into a panic of course, as small as the cell was. It also didn't help that I was forced to share it with three other men. The coin I had on me was gone. I still don't know if I was pickpocketed while I was laying incapacitated in the tavern, or if the Denerim guards helped themselves to my coinpurse. Either way, I was unable to pay my bail. Two of the three other men in the cell had been there for weeks. Also mysteriously lacking coin after their arrest, they were unable to pay their way out, even though they'd been brought in on ridiculously petty offenses. The charges against me included two counts of assault of an officer and destruction of property._

_I'll spare you the gruesome details of my 18 days in the Denerim jail. But by the end I was in agony, having gone that entire time without a dose of lyrium. I could scarcely hold down a meal, and my cellmates were becoming increasing disturbed. But I managed to bribe an officer to let me send out a letter to Cassandra, by promising that she would pay him a ridiculous sum upon her arrival. She came and bailed me out, and I had to construct a story to explain the events leading up to my arrest, as it was clear that family I was supposed be visiting didn't live in Denerim._

_We stayed in Denerim for two more days, but I was already convinced that continuing to search for you was pointless, especially with her and Varric in tow. I confessed to her then, and now to you, that since sending in my resignation to the Order I had been feeling as though I might attempt to wean myself off of lyrium completely. My dose is already low now, and that was enough of a struggle. But my time in the jail with no doses at all ended up a bit of a mixed blessing, if an excruciatingly painful one. It illuminated for me the fact that I am still not a free man. On the one hand, I really only experienced about three days of full withdrawal there, and that was enough to drive home the extent of the struggle I would be in for if I attempted to quit completely. That withdrawal was everything I'd experienced in attempting to lower my dose, but magnified to unimaginable levels. On the other hand, if I succeed, I would never be subject to such torture again. There would be costs, of course. But if I were to succeed, I would truly be free. As long as I remain on lyrium, I remain a slave to something other than myself._

_In my discussion with Cassandra, she mentioned having once read in an ancient Seeker text about a potion called Dragon's Breath that allegedly eases lyrium withdrawal symptoms. She claimed it one of the many Seeker secrets withheld from the world by order of the Chantry. And of course the Chantry would not want that information out as they would risk losing legions of their men. So the two days we lingered in Denerim, a search of a sort continued, but changed. We visited several places trying to hunt down more information about this potion, including an historian, the Ferelden court archivist, the local college, and then Denerim's highest ranking healer. The healer pointed us toward a master herbalist in a hut just outside of the city, a man who is supposedly highly revered for his many decades of intensive study. After two days on a trail, we finally spoke to someone else who had heard of this potion. But he told us that it was a myth. He was certain of this fact, though Cassandra is skeptical. Still, there are few men in all of Ferelden with the experience and credentials that this herbalist has. It is deeply disappointing, but I feel no choice but to accept that this brief gleam of hope leads only to a dead end. Just as this whole trip has._

_I still don't know if it was you that was in the tavern. I wonder why it is that Templar had gone there, of all the places in Thedas, if he hadn't actually received some kind of tip or piece of credible information. It seems some sort of accomplishment of its own that I found myself there without benefit of the same tip. Or perhaps he was bullshitting afterall, and had simply guessed, just as I did. But now my heart is telling me that if you were there, you are long gone. Surely you'd have heard about the Templars searching for you and the bar fight that resulted, and you would have left as quickly as you could. And I can't even begin to fathom where you would have gone from there. So this trail, as with the Dragon's Breath, is cold. And I am about to mount a horse to meet up with some Orlesian and an Antivan that Cassandra has recruited, where we will make our way to a small town that I hear is very icy and remote._

_The search is over. None of this went the way I'd hoped. But I still pray to the Maker that our paths may cross again yet. Praying is the only thing I feel I have left to do._

_Yours eternally,_

_Cullen_

 

 

Avery felt her body collapse, her forehead banging against the ground once, then twice, then a third time. The groan coming from her throat sounded like it belonged to a wild creature, but there was nothing within her willing to stop it. The memory of that day in the tavern had been buried so deep, she hadn't thought of it a single time since then. That hadn't been her in the corner, but she was there, standing at the bottom of the stairwell with Fenris just behind her, listening to the slurred yelling of a drunken man. She and Fenris had been on their way to the main barroom to order lunch, before meeting up with mercenary in the market for a possible job. But the calling of her Kirkwall title from the room just around the corner stopped her in her tracks. She heard a scuffle, a surprised yell, the screeching of tables and chairs getting violently dragged across the room. And then a body was in front of her. Gilly, a young girl that reminded her so much of Merrill. She pulled her cloak hood off to reveal wild eyes and flushed cheeks.

"Get out of here, Hawke. There are Templars here for you," she breathed hurriedly.

"Fuck," Avery sighed. She'd gathered as much, but hearing it spoken made it real. More real than she knew how to handle. Her heart was instantly in her throat. She was caught completely off guard, and had left her staff up in her room like usual. She never brought it out any more since it marked her unmistakably as a mage. It was dangerous to be a mage in the world again.

"A man is fighting them, but it's two against one. There's no way he's going to be able to hold them off for long," Gilly continued, grabbing Hawke's arm and pushing her back up the stairs. "You have to go. Now!"

Avery had lingered anyway, staring down at the girl. Just feet away the sounds of fighting were increasing in volume, coming closer to where they stood. They needed only to round a corner, and she would see them.

"Who's the man?" Avery asked.

"I don't know. Some grubby looking guy. He's been around for a few days. Go!"

And they'd left. She and Fenris grabbed their belongings as quickly as they could and fled out the back door of the tavern. That was the day she left Denerim and traveled south as fast as their horses could carry them. She hadn't looked back. They hadn't been the first Templars who'd caught a whiff of their trail, and she didn't expect it would be the last. But she'd thought very little of that day. It had never ever occurred to her to think anything about it.

The sobs came on like an attack. The last sliver of light was slipping below the horizon, and Cassie had already called Avery numerous times from the campfire, trying to alert her that the rations had been warmed and were ready to eat. Avery ignored it, feeling her eyes grow puffy with the force of her tears. Her heart seemed to be wrenching itself apart in her chest. It was hardly any consolation that she and Cullen had found each other again, that they were man and wife. Especially when they were so far apart. Especially when it had been 84 days without a word from him, and knowing that at the time she was sent away, he was injured, and most likely suffering from horrific pain. The grief flattened her beneath it, an avalanche loneliness, confusion and anger. So much time had already been lost, and none of it could ever be taken back.

She'd expected Weisshaupt to be large, but large hardly did it justice. Weisshaupt was _massive._ Stone walls stretched the full perimeter of a broad mountain top, and the building that rose into the sky overhead seemed a completion of the sloping mound of earth beneath it. In the distant rear a tower loomed, the highest floors hazy from the dizzyingly high elevation. She could only guess that those had once been the home of the griffins. Large open windows dotted rings around the tower, the perfect launch pads for beasts of flight. The history contained within the ancient walls was palpable. The stones seemed to sing with long forgotten memories, and sure the Fade beyond this stretch of the Veil was swarming with scenes from centuries past. Avery and her companions approached with wide-eyed awe.

Their guide, however, remained completely nonplussed. He nodded at the six archers that had appeared on either side of a massive gate door and they lowered their bows. A smaller door off to the side opened, words were exchanged and the guide handed off the scroll. When the dwarf turned back to Avery, his expression of annoyance had grown more severe than usual.

"Only you," the dwarf said. He nodded quickly to Cassie and Kilborn. "They have to stay behind."

"What? Why?" Avery asked.

"Don't know. You'll have to take that up with the Wardens," he grumbled as he shifted his weight on his feet. Avery could read the situation clearly enough. The guide was not happy to have company for his return trip. Avery sighed and opened her pack, reaching for her coin purse. She didn't feel like arguing. She didn't feel like doing much of anything except sinking into a warm bath.

"Fine," she snapped, stuffing three sovereigns into the dwarf's leathery palm. "See that they make it to the closest town _safely_."

The dwarf raised an eyebrow at the amount in his hand, and she knew he'd do as she asked. She turned to Cassie. The girl had lost a bit of weight during their trip, and seemed almost the vision of a wisp ghost. Avery suddenly felt remorse for how impersonal a leader she'd been during their time together. How was it that she'd spent nearly that whole time completely wrapped up in herself, and so rarely stopped to get to know those risking their lives to travel with her? Avery struggled against the odd compulsion to pull the girl into a hug. Leaving them on an awkward note would only make joining them again later awkward too. Instead she handed a stack of coin to the girl, and another to Kilborn.

"Enjoy your break in town. Send a letter to let me know where you're staying, and I'll meet you as soon as my business here is through," Avery said, wincing at her own businesslike tone. There had been a time in her life when she was good at this sort of thing. At leading people but still being able to call them friends. She resolved to warm up to them on the return trip. They'd have several more months of travel together after all.

The next few hours dripped by like thick molasses. First she waited in a cold empty room, and then she was led to another cold room. There was little to see in the places she was kept, but in a long walk to a rear wing of the fortress she glimpsed a spacious alcove that seemed to hold a small museum of seemingly priceless artifacts. There were almost no other people around, though in a hall to a meeting room they passed a pair of Wardens that looked shockingly decrepit. She recognized that sort of deterioration from that prison in the Vimmarks. They'd had a guide there, a man who almost seemed equal parts man and equal parts dark spawn. That apparently happened to all the Wardens eventually, she remembered. Their lives were short, and the closer they got to their true calling, the more their bodies decayed around them. Avery kept her visceral reaction off her face as they passed, and managed to exchange a small nod with the men.

But once they'd passed, she shivered violently. The quiet stone hallway felt even colder than the frosty mountain air outside the walls. The eerie quiet of such old, giant rooms only exacerbated the discomfort. She rubbed her arms as she was finally led into a room with several men sitting at a long table. She sighed as she mentally prepared her story, her explanation of what she saw in the Vimmark prison, of the events at Adamant and the treachery of Erimond. It would be a challenge not to be too unforgiving about the Warden's side of things, but she would do her best to give them a fair shake.

The cold made it difficult to keep her voice steady as she began. She resolved to answer all their questions as efficiently as possible, and then find her way to wherever in this stone behemoth that the fires were burning.

Her quarters were modest, but a tub had been fetched, and she finally lowered herself into a steaming bath. Immediately her thoughts went to Cullen. So much of her focus remained in the events at Denerim. The fantasy that Cullen had confessed to had been playing on repeat in every empty corner of her mind. If somehow they'd been able to meet there at the Copper Fence, where would she be now? Would she be soaking in a tub tens of thousands of miles away from her beloved? Would they both be such integral parts of the Inquisition, or would they have taken a more passive role, putting a higher priority on staying together? Their relationship would have garnered more respect from Mahanon if they'd been married from the very beginning. Probably they wouldn't have to fight so much to stay in tact. Probably they wouldn't have to fight at all.

She closed her eyes and replayed the vision she'd had of his fantasy. Him approaching her in the dark room, his caramel eyes glistening pools of warmth. She heard again the words that would explain everything she'd come to know. His ardent desire to have her back, to know if she still loved him. Avery melted into the tub, letting her head sink fully under the water. She held her breath and allowed every inch of her skin be warmed by the water. It was easy to imagine the water as a caress, as a kiss across her body. It would not be as easy to immerse herself in him in the same way, even when the time came that they were reunited yet again. It wasn't possible to have every cell in her skin covered by his, to drown herself entirely in his touch. They would try, _she_ would try. But there were always limitations. Bodies have boundaries. Lungs need air, cells need water, muscles need food. As much as it seemed he could satisfy every need within her, they would eventually still have to get out of bed. They would have to walk separately, with air and space between them. There would be work, trips to the market, the need to bathe. Doses of her husband would have to come in interrupted stretches, and even if it didn't, it would take the rest of her life to get as much of him as she desired.

The Wardens supplied a fresh pair of plainclothes, and they were blessedly thick and insulated. Still, she found herself longing for the heat of the lower Anderfels. She'd been desperate to get away from it, but now found herself desperate to get back. But in a distant wing a short walk from her assigned quarters, she finally came upon a network of rooms warmed by golden firelight. There was a kitchen, and what must have functioned as a cafeteria whenever the Wardens hosted a larger population. And in the furthest reaches sat a library that took her breath away. The room was circular, nearly as large as the market square Hightown. The floor in the center was littered with overcrowded shelves, and the walls boasted rows of books that stretched up at least four stories. Several ladders on wheels sat where they had last been used. While tiptoeing her way through the narrow paths between bookcases she passed cases that contained artifacts dating back to previous blights. One case held a suit of armor and another a broken battle axe. There were paintings and mountains of candlewax drippings on every unoccupied surface.

Avery felt a curious combination of exhilaration and disorientation as she let her eyes travel along the perimeter of the room. Spines of books so old the letters had faded away completely, or maybe they'd never existed. It smelled of dust and steel, and she quickly noticed that the further up the wall shelves reached, the newer the books appeared. But Avery was quickly pulled out of her reverie by a soft brushing against her leg. Two bright blue eyes gleamed up at her from a rather large ball of fluffy black hair on the floor. An insistent meow alerted her to the fact that paying attention to the creature was not an option, but was something much closer to a requirement. A laugh erupted from her throat, and echoed unexpectedly through the vast room. She knelt down and gave the cat a good scratch, and was rewarded with the powerful buzz of a loud purr.

Quietly, she made her way back to the kitchens, her stomach growing louder and more insistently than her new furry friend. The cat trotted along at her heels as she traveled out the library door and down the hall, but gave up half way to the kitchen and scurried into an adjacent room. Avery shrugged and continued on.

The kitchen was warm, and fully supplied, but unstaffed. She stood in the center of the room and looked around, trying again to get her bearing in this place. She hadn't been quite sure what to expect at Weisshaupt, but she certainly thought there'd be more _people_ present. Those men that she had spoken to, including the younger man who'd led her from room to room, seemed to have little to say and little interest in visiting with her beyond her delivery of the news. They'd kept their reaction rather under the belt. It seemed to her that they were waiting for her to leave the room to begin discussing how they truly felt about the situation. Were Wardens always so blighted secretive? Or was this simply a common trait within the Anderfels?

It took only a moment before she knew what to do. She padded quietly around the kitchen, locating first a loaf of bread, and then a chunk of cheese. There was a clean pan already hanging beside the fire, and butter in a porcelain tub on the counter top. She was certain her own cheese sandwich would taste nothing like Cullen's, but she could closer her eyes and pretend. She'd already been doing so much of that, for months upon months. It barely required effort anymore to slip into an alternate world in her mind and indulge in the company of her distant loved ones.

She was back at Skyhold in the kitchens, enjoying a late night cheese sandwich when a voice came from behind her, one that was completely out of place in her fantasy. She opened her eyes and waited, unsure that she really heard what she heard. It was a voice she knew, but not one that belonged in her head.

"They said you were visiting. I didn't believe it could be true," it said again. Avery almost choked on the piece of sandwich in her mouth. She instinctively swallowed it without finishing chewing. Slowly, she turned toward the source of the voice, her eyes not prepared to see the ghost that they belonged to. But there he stood, in full flesh and blood. Like Fenris, he'd put a little weight on. But he'd also sprouted a few grey hairs at his temples. His eyes were luminous, golden moons.

"Anders?"


	37. Chapter 37

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter's going to be a long one, so it might take me a while. Hopefully not too long.

"Anders?" Avery gasped. "You're at Weisshaupt!"

The smirk on his face looked precisely as she remembered it. He was obviously pleased at the surprise, but beneath it lay the warm glimmer of sadness that she knew so well. His humor had become more and more of a mask in the later years of their friendship, and that seemed no different now. He took several slow steps toward her and looked around the room, feigning confusion. "Oh, is that what this place is? That explains all the bloody Grey Wardens around here."

He took the last two steps quickly and his arms closed around Avery, sweeping her into a vise-like hug. Avery remained frozen, unconvinced until the moment she smelled that distinctly _Anders_ scent that the vision before her was anything more than a figment of her imagination.

His arms began to warm her, reminding her how long it had been since she'd been held by anyone. Cautiously, she embraced him in return, but still her mind was reeling. Flashes of Anders lying straight-faced to her about that potion, images of the explosion in Kirkwall, of the numerous shredded bodies she'd treated afterward appeared before her eyes. His arms trembled as they squeezed around her, his breath sighing shakily in her ear. She could only imagine how much longer it had been for him to have someone hold him; someone he felt comfortable going to for affection. Despite the visions of the carnage he'd caused, she found herself with the impulse to stroke his hair. It was so much easier to remember the Anders she'd once been inseparable from, the one she'd known nearly a decade longer than the man he'd become just before their separation. The vulnerable man who struggled inwardly much more than anyone knew, who was hurt by the depths of his own compassion, who gave his considerable healing gifts freely to anyone in need, with no expectation of payment. As with so many things in her past, nothing could be done about the way it all ended now. She certainly wasn't going to bury a dagger in his back this late in the game.

"What Wardens? I've seen maybe ten of you total since I set foot in this place," Avery laughed softly into his shoulder as her body relaxed. His pauldrons and robe had been replaced by a simple leather suit with a subtle griffin inlay along the sleeves and lapel. She had to admin that it was a flattering outfit, highlighting his broad shoulders and long torso. Not as broad and enticing as Cullen's warrior build, but there was no question why Avery had initially been attracted to Anders. Such a possibility was non-existent at this point, however. Her heart and soul resided elsewhere.

"Oh they're here. This place is just so damned big, and everyone tends to spread out a bit," Anders answered. He pulled away and looked into space. Avery assumed he was listening to Justice, raising a number of new questions. But then he began to speak.

"There's one in the gardens at the moment, probably Santi practicing his staff skills. Three making their way through a lower level, probably to the lower bathhouse. And two several rooms over..; though they're coming through almost as a single entity…" Anders laughed and shook his head. "That's probably Britte and Meghan. I swear those two are determined to fuck in every room in this fortress."

He looked sharply back at Avery, raising a lascivious eyebrow. "Can't say I blame them."

"Oh right…" Avery sighed as she pulled away, ignoring the suggestion implicit in Anders' returning smirk. "That whole Warden sense thing. I guess that's… convenient."

She returned to her stool and picked at the crust of her sandwich. It was quickly growing cold.

"It is. We can't sneak up on each other, which has its benefits," he said with a shrug. "But it also makes scare pranks nearly impossible."

He lowered himself across the table, and studied her face intently.

"The longer hair looks good on you," he said. "I mean, the short hair was just so… _you_ , but this is also quite fetching."

"Yep. You're not the only one who's been in hiding for the last three years,"Avery said, feeling the remains of her smile fall away. She looked up at Anders' face and studied him in return. He had a scar cutting across his cheek, and a new web of crows feet around his eyes. His own hair was long enough to be gathered back into a full pony-tail, not that half pony he wore back in Kirkwall. The grey at his temples made him look surprisingly distinguished. He looked healthy, but had clearly aged quickly over the last few years. She could only imagine what kind of trouble he encountered.

"Yeah, sorry about that. Of all the people in Kirkwall, you were one that it pained me most to hurt," he said quietly. With the softness of his apology came a flood of questions in her mind, every idle thought that had occurred to her over the years. Mostly about how he felt now that it was all over, and now that the mages and Templars were officially at war. Was justice proud? Could he even tell justice apart at all anymore? Toward the end in Kirkwall that line within him had been blurring more and more. But at the same time justice had been able to occasionally take over, blotting out Anders' awareness completely. The relationship of spirit and host had always been so changeable, at times turning Anders' into a walking contradiction. There would be time for those questions though, she figured. She was staying the night at least, with the probability of another meeting with the Wardens at the long table the next day. She could ease herself into the more intense topics once they felt fully reacquainted.

"How long have you been here?" she asked instead. She picked up her sandwich and took a bite. It hadn't been as good as Cullen's anyway, but her stomach still rumbled. She hadn't eaten anything since breakfast.

"Since I started hearing the Calling," Anders said. "It was just… it was too early. That's not supposed to happen for _decades_ or at least that was my understanding. I just didn't know what else to do. My time with the other Wardens in Vigil's Keep had been rather short, and the Warden-Commander who'd given me the joining hadn't had much time with the Wardens above him, so there was little he could pass on to us. I'd never embraced the fact that I was a Warden, that you know well enough. But suddenly I had so many questions, and this was the only place I knew of that might actually have some answers," Anders said. "When I learned we were all hearing it, it was… I don't know, comforting in a way? Everyone else was freaking out, but for me… well Justice was certain there was something more to it than what everyone was assuming, we just needed to find out what. And I ended up rather grateful that the Calling led me somewhere safe."

Avery nodded as she watched him.. She could only imagine how frightening it would be to be wandering Thedas, already fearing for your life, only to be assaulted with a song in your head that told you it didn't matter where you ran.

"Are you still hearing it?" she asked. Anders listened for a moment, and then nodded slowly.

"It's quieter now. I can ignore it most of the time."

Avery felt a shiver up her back. Had Stroud failed? Had he perished in the Fade? Or had he succeeded and it was just taking a while for the Nightmare's song to die too? Either he had killed the Nightmare demon or he hadn't. Those seemed to be the only two options, even as Stroud's fate remained a mystery. She assumed all the Wardens would already have been informed that the Calling was fake, since that was precisely the news she'd already delivered hours ago. Someone had told Anders she was there, they must have told him that much else too. She was tired of talking about those details. It only reminded her that someone else had probably died in her place, when _she_ was the one who'd apparently, somehow, let Corypheus get away all those years ago. She shook the thought away.

"So you're happy here?"

Anders shrugged and looked around the kitchen again.

"It's been better than the alternative. The gardens are nice, and the library is positively unmatched. There's probably nothing else like it in all of Thedas. Have you been there yet? I have enough reading material to keep me happy for the rest of my days." Anders said with eyes suddenly sparkling. "And no one minds that I've taken in a cat. Two, actually. I'm not exactly anyone's favorite person around here, or anywhere, and they mostly all keep their distance from the _evil insurrectionist apostate_ ," he said mockingly. "But they all concede that my healing abilities make me useful. And there's enough space that they can completely ignore me until they need my help, so…" he shrugged again, then sighed and leaned back in his seat.

"Like it or not, I'm one of them. They can't try to lure me into capture in order to claim the reward money, or set fire to my quarters as I sleep, as several other groups I was with did. Well, I mean I guess they _could_ , but they won't. Stone doesn't burn, and they already have more coin than anyone could ever possibly spend. I'm the resident healer and the garden is more bountiful than ever, thanks to me. I feel safer here than I have felt since Kirkwall."

The sandwich was gone, but Avery was still hungry. She could think of little to say to Anders. Part of her was glad that he was safe and living well. Another part of her was painfully aware that the entire world would claim that this was not the ending this so-called monster deserved. She took a deep breath and reminded herself that it wasn't her concern anymore.

"I have seen the library," Avery said as she rose to pick through the other jars and cupboards for more food. "And I think I met your cat. A black one?"

"Yes, that's Catticus. Did he give you the full library tour?"

Avery snorted. Anders and his clever names. In a bowl on a far corner she found an apple and took it back to the table.

"Something like that," she said, taking a bite into the juicy fruit. "And what's the other's name?"

"Lionel," Anders said with a smug grin. "Lionel the lionhearted, fiercest beast in all the Anderfels. He's probably outside defending my patch of squash from the throngs of nasty rodents."

Avery snorted again. Anders beamed.

"It's so good to see you, Hawke." Anders said. "You look well. I've worried about… what happened to you after I left. After you…" he sighed again, his brows furrowing. He began picking at his cuticle, a habit he had back in Kirkwall. It was always an indication that he was feeling nervous or uncertain. "After you let me live. I know you must have caught a lot of shit for that."

Avery snorted, "that's putting it mildly."

"I know. I'm sorry," he said softly.

Avery grabbed his hand quickly and gave it a squeeze before pulling away again. She finished her apple and then spotted a kettle hanging beside the fire.

"I assume you have tea in this place?" she said as she rose again and tossed her apple core in a nearby wastebasket. A hot cup of tea would warm their hands and give her something to do while she waited for the heavy air between them to clear. Anders too seemed grateful for the distraction, and flashed her a smile as he rose to fetch a canister out of the cupboard. They'd share a cup and then she decided she'd ask for the official Weisshaupt tour, since none of the other Wardens had offered. The giant fortress felt a little less cold knowing that she'd at least have the company of an old friend during her time there. It would be a relief of its own to have so many of her long festering questions finally answered.

Xxxxxxxxxx

Her feet were sore. She settled down into the straw mattress that made up her bed and let out a long groan. Exploring all of Weisshaupt with Anders had taken hours, and they'd even climbed to the top of the old Griffin stables. She'd been correct in her assumption that those large holes in the tower were basically launchpads for the giant beasts. Anders told her all that he'd learned about them in his time there; that the Griffins weren't chosen by the riders, the riders were chosen by their Griffins. That the second blight had ravaged more of the world than any blight had since, and without the Griffin's help, it would never have been stopped at all. But the cost had been the lives of every remaining Griffin, though no information remained about precisely why that had been. Avery felt an unnerving sadness as she walked through the stables. It was nearly impossible to imagine the beasts from the paintings living and breathing before her. But the proof that they had lived was before her very eyes. She saw where they had slept, where they ate, where they had their wounds mended and prepared for battle. How different might the world be if there were still Griffins to share the good fight?

She'd also seen the gardens, vast and lush thanks to Anders' remarkable green thumb. It occupied a courtyard nearly three times the size of Skyhold's, with half designated for food, and the other half teeming with blooming, fragrant herbs. Anders said it produced much more than the resident Wardens truly needed, so when he wasn't reading or tending to his vegetables, he was canning the extra produce and drying herbs out for storage. He'd even added quite a significant amount to Weisshaupt's long standing seed bank.

"We have seeds for every herb known to have useful properties, and many in such quantity that we should never be in need again. Barring some widespread catastrophe that requires Warden intervention, that is," he'd boasted proudly. "It's really only supposed to sustain the Warden population between blights, but since no one knows how long that will be… it doesn't hurt to keep adding to the supply, does it?" he'd asked.

The longer they walked, the more it seemed Anders had ended up in precisely the place he belonged, to his own surprise as much as hers. It only saddened her that he was so isolated in his new home. She saw the coldness in the eyes of the other Wardens as they passed. No doubt every other person there was fully aware of Anders' crimes, and clearly none could offer anything beyond mere tolerance of his presence. But coldness was better than outright hostility, even Anders himself acknowledged that. Though it was increasingly clear that he was desperate for real, intimate human company. He touched her at every opportunity, laying a hand on her back or taking her hand to help her down stairs. She'd stopped shirking away from it once he noticed her hesitance, and assured her he was only happy to have a friend again. Even with as much joy as he obviously took in his two cats, there was only so much one-sided conversation one person could have.

The small fire crackled just feet away from her bed, heating the spartan stone room to just above freezing. Her eyelids drooped as she thought over what was to come the next day. She couldn't deny that Anders' touch had made her hungry for more, though of course it wasn't Anders' hands that she yearned for. Somewhere, thousands of miles away, lay Cullen. Likely in a camp in the Arbor wilds, alone on a bedroll in a modest tent. She could only guess that he was thinking of her. Was he receiving her letters? Did he know how desperately she missed him? How thinking of him, of how far apart they were had caused her to break down several times now? Days ago, before they'd reached the Anderfel foothills she'd had to stop Kilborn and Cassie and ask them to give her a minute. She'd run off to an isolated spot and cried. Everything seemed to hit her over the head at once. Not knowing the state of Cullen's health, not knowing why he wasn't writing, not knowing when she was going to see him again, to hold him again. Not knowing what kind of reception she would receive when she did finally return. It was all suddenly too much to bear. Her stomach existed in a permanent twist of knots. So many unanswered questions burned her insides like a fiery acid. There'd been a number of times where she woke to a yet another stretch of travel that seemed impossible to endure.

With a yawn, she grabbed at her pack. Just one letter, and then she'd finally end this long, strange day.

It took her until the paper was before her eyes before it hit her. Her laughed echoed off the stone walls of her room, sounding more like a bark than a true laugh. The words of the last letter she'd read the night before raced vividly through her mind. A year ago they'd come so close to reuniting. They'd been only feet away from each other, and never knew it. But there was more to that letter than that revelation, there was also the mention of a potion. A myth, he'd said. She laughed again. The library down the hall held centuries of knowledge, diaries and journals, memoirs and reference books. The fog cleared her eyes and she shot upright in bed. She felt silly for not thinking of it sooner. If there was anywhere that might know about such a potion as Dragon's Breath, surely it would be Weisshaupt? With _that_ library, tended and maintained for _centuries_?

She was out of bed and in the hall faster than she could grab her robe. Once the thought hit her, she'd stopped only to close the portfolio and place it back in her pack. The stone hallway floor bit against her bare feet and she shivered as the thin linen gown she wore fluttered around her body. She counted the doors past the hall that turned toward the kitchen, trying to recall which room Anders said was his. Most of these quarters were empty, once inhabited by the very Wardens she'd fought back at Adamant.

The door that belonged to Anders was easy to spot once it came into view; it was the only that had a strip of light burning in the gap at the floor. She knocked impatiently and bounced on her feet as she waited. The door opened with a heavy click that echoed down the long, frigid hall. A warm hand closed around her arm and pulled her inside. The words she'd been preparing were on the tip of her tongue, but before she could speak she found herself pressed up against the back of the hard door, with Anders' body pressed against hers, his steamy mouth seeking entrance between her lips. He groaned as he kissed her hard, his hands roving over the thin linen and finding the firm nubs atop her breasts. She took in a sharp breath, realizing immediately that this was wrong. She shook her head, and pressed her hands against his chest. He was shirtless and lean, his skin warm against her palms.

"No… no… Anders…" she cried between kisses. She pushed him harder and heard him groan.

"Hawke," he gasped. "I was hoping you'd come to me."

She mustered up her strength and delivered a hard shove. She reeled from the unexpected intensity of the contact as Anders staggered away, his sizeable erection tenting the front of his breeches. She couldn't deny the reaction her body had to being pressed against him. Avery shook her head and shut it down. She was lonely too. Of course she was. But no, that was not why she was here.

"I'm sorry Anders, but I can't," she said. She'd never told him about Cullen. He hadn't asked and a part of her feared his reaction. They'd been getting along so well, it seemed unnecessary to even bring it up. But she'd have to now. She would have had no regardless of how Anders had greeted her.

He took several deep breaths, swaying with the struggle to regain his composure. He turned away and adjusted the bulge in his pants.

Nodding almost more to himself, his voice came out in a croak. "You're with someone? Of course you are. I'd expected you'd probably be married by now. Or settled down somewhere with little black haired moppets running around."

Avery gave a little shrug. "You're half right."

Anders laughed heartily and glanced down at her hand, searching her fingers for a ring. "How is the little elf anyway? Why isn't he here with you? Did you leave him behind to manage the brood?"

Avery sighed. She had no idea how how he was truly going to react to the news that she'd married a former Templar, of all things. The Anders she used to know would have be furious. _Livid_. Time had seemed to mellow him a bit, as had being on the run for years. She knew that had to have beaten him down a bit. It had done for her. Still, she'd been fearing it since the moment he sat before her in the kitchen. She supposed revealing little bits at a time might ease him into it.

"There is no brood. And it's not Fenris," she said quietly.

"So married then? You married someone who didn't even bother to give you a ring?" he asked, inspecting her hand again. No, of course he wouldn't suspect the amber ring. She'd already been wearing that back in Kirkwall. "I must say, Hawke, I already disapprove. I know you're not the materialistic type, but…"

"This _is_ my ring," she said, instinctively twisting it around her finger. She admired the changing browns of the amber, seeing in it the perfect reflection of Cullen's warm eyes. The memory of their wedding in the garden took her out of the moment for a blissful second, transporting her before the beatific face of her beloved. But it lasted a mere blink before the cold present slammed her back into reality.

"But you were wearing that in Kirkwall…" Anders pointed out. Avery nodded. His expression changed to one of confusion, his eyes deepening as he considered the other possibilities.

He laughed again. "So… Varric?"

She shook her head. He'd seen Cullen kiss her in the Gallows that day. He'd flashed her a look of such outrage it still chilled her to recall it. She could wait for him to make the connection himself, or just be out with it. Avery rolled her shoulders and stood tall. She didn't need to be afraid of Anders, she reminded herself. She was proud of her marriage, and proud of her husband. There was nothing Anders could say that would change that.

"It's Cullen," she said."Technically, I am now 'Hawke-Rutherford.'"

Anders blinked at her for several long seconds. The bulge in his breeches had receded, but she saw the flush creeping up his chest, coloring his neck and ears pink.

"The Knight-Captain!? You married… a Templar?" he asked, his voice sounding hollow. He swallowed and then spoke again, this time with more force. "And not just any Templar, but the _King fucking Templar_ of the Kirkwall Order!? Are you fucking _insane!?_ "

There it was. Avery waited a moment to respond, giving Anders time to let the information sink in. He began to pace the room, his eyes growing wild with anger. Suddenly he laughed, loudly enough to echo off the walls and ring in her ears. He must have remembered the kiss.

Avery sighed. She'd have to let him work through his reaction before she could ask him for his help. There was nothing to do really but offer an explanation and wait him out.

"Right. Of course. But…" he stopped, and looked at her ring again. "You were wearing that for a long time. Months, I think. So you were fucking King Templar that whole time? Is that why you kicked me and Fenris out of your house?"

This time Avery laughed. She winced at the amount of laughter flying around the room. None of it was real. They were all angry, mocking barks that didn't mean what real laughter was supposed to mean. "I kicked you two out of my house because you two had already kicked me out of my own fucking bed. Do you know what it's like to feel unwanted in your own home? Because two men you once loved no longer wanted you as much as they wanted each other?" she asked. "No, Anders. Cullen didn't have a damn thing to do with that. Though…" she laughed again, figuring there was no point in lying now. "It was when I ran to a place that I could try to process losing you two that he found me. So really, it's all your fault. Thank you, actually. If it wasn't for you…"

"But he's a fucking Templar, Hawke! He was hunting us! Killing us! He was just as bad as that evil bitch…"

"No, that's entirely true," she interjected firmly. Anders snorted and crossed him arms, pointedly waiting for her to continue. Avery continued, keeping her voice as clear and confident as she could manage. "Cullen was questioning Meredith that whole time. And he never hurt anyone himself, not without provocation. If it wasn't for him the Templars would have been even _worse._ "

Anders laughed bitterly again, but Avery continued.

"He decapitated another Templar who was abusing his power, right in front of my eyes. During that time that Meredith sent us out to bring in some escaped mages? And after you left us at the Gallows he called her out in front of all the other Templars. He stood against her openly, and asked the other Templars to see reason and join him," she said. "Anders, he helped me kill Meredith. He took down his own Knight-Commander. I honestly don't know if we could have done it without his help. Not with what she had become."

Anders said nothing, but hadn't softened his stance much. She could practically read his thoughts as he studied her with narrowed, darkened eyes. None of that mattered much to him, certainly not as much as knowing she'd betrayed Anders by growing close to the very people they were supposed to be fighting. She'd betrayed him, and by extension, all the other mages in Kirkwall. All the victims of Templar abuses that she was supposed to be championing.

"He's a good man, Anders, not that I particularly need your approval. He did have a time, a long period of time, where he said and did things against mages that he's not proud of. But you don't know what was done to him in Kinloch Hold. He was imprisoned and tortured there by mages, for _weeks._ He still has nightmares, he still struggles to function normally because of it, even though it's been decades. He might never know true peace, thanks all the shit he's seen and had done to him. _By mages_. But despite all the damage our kind has done to him, he doesn't hate us all. Not that way you hate all Templars. Cullen is forgiving and kind and compassionate and strong…"

Anders snorted again and tightend his arms over his chest.

"He _loves_ me. And I love him, more than I have ever loved anyone or anything," she said. Anders looked up sharply, his eyes full of an unexpected pain. She hadn't meant to say it. She hadn't been thinking too hard about anything. She simply opened her mouth and let the truth come out. But still she was surprised to see that saying such a thing hurt him. Especially since he had basically chosen to end things first, back when he chose Fenris. And even after that had ended as quickly as it did, he'd never asked for her back.

"And he's not a Templar anymore," she said finally. Anders laughed disdainfully. Avery was growing tired of the laughter. He looked away again, casting his eyes to the floor.

"It's true, he left the Order completely. He wants nothing to do with that life anymore. Or ever again. The Order, the chantry has done just as much harm to him as we mages have."

Anders shook his head. "They can't just leave the Order, Hawke. That's pretty much common knowledge, isn't it? The lyrium makes sure of it. Even Samson was brought back in eventually."

Anders' arms finally loosened, and then fell away. He stepped over to his bureau and grabbed a tunic, throwing it over his head. Avery noticed the gooseflesh along his arms, and was suddenly aware of the chill crawling over her own body. Anders tossed her his robe, averting his eyes as she caught it. She realized as she put it on that her cold-hardened nipples were shearing through the linen of her gown, her body as covered with gooseflesh as his own. She pulled his robe tight around her, grateful for the warmth of the thick covering.

"Cullen quit lyrium once already. It nearly drove him mad, but he did it. And soon he's going to need to do it again," she explained. Anders rubbed at his brow. Whether or not he was still angry was unclear, but at least he was relaxing.

"They can't quit lyrium, Hawke," he answered. "It kills them or whatever, right? Once you go Templar, you're Templar for life. That's what the Chantry says."

Avery laughed, "since when you do believe everything the Chantry says?"

"Well if he needs to quit again, that means it didn't exactly stick the first time around, right?"

"That wasn't his fault. The Inquisitor made him take it. Cullen was having headaches… nightmares," Avery shivered at the memory of the night in the Winter Palace courtyard, and of the tense moments in Cullen's office when she found him and Anon standing there together. "There was an incident…" she sighed. "It was ugly."

Anders just looked at her quietly, suddenly appearing deeply tired.

"I need your help. That's why I'm here right now," she said. "Have you ever heard of a potion called Dragon's Breath?"

Anders thought for a moment and then shook his head. Avery was expecting that. She would have been genuinely surprised if he had.

"Well, some apparently think it's a myth, but a Seeker mentioned that she'd read about it in some secret Seeker texts. It's supposed to help ease lyrium withdrawal. I need to know more about it… if it really is a myth, or if there is any possibility that it might be real," she explained. She knew she was speaking too much; throwing heaps of information onto him all at once. He still hadn't even recovered fully from the news of her marriage, and she was already grilling him about some mythical potion. With as blank a look as he was giving her, it seemed that maybe she should slow down and give him more time to process. But the urgency was what had brought her to his door in the first place. The sooner she knew where to start looking, the sooner she could find some answers.

"Does Weisshaupt have an herbalist? Or, maybe the library might say something about it in one of the old books? Maybe the herbalist can tell us where the books or journals from past herbalists are located?"

"That's me," Anders said with a shrug. "You're looking at the Weisshaupt herbalist. At least since the mass exodus that happened right after the Calling. And I suppose none of those Wardens are coming back, at least until the Inquisitor is done with them. So. Sorry, Hawke."

He sighed, then turned to slip on a pair of slippers.

"But I know where some old journals are," he said. "Come on, then."

Avery was deep in thought as they made their way toward the library. The library was massive and there was no way they'd have the time or energy to find and read the entirety of every old herbalist text there. They'd have to narrow it down somehow, pick a place to start, a place that would hopefully not be too far from where they needed to be. What would make the Wardens most likely to need something for lyrium withdrawal?

"Grey Wardens take Templars, right?" she asked. "They can be conscripted if the Wardens need more fighters?"

"Yep," Anders answered. "Unfortunately."

"And do you keep a supply of lyrium for them? I mean, I guess you wouldn't have them quit necessarily? The world would know about it if you had any who'd done so successfully, and everyone still believes that's not possible."

"Well. I do know there have been times when conscripted Templars have been separated from their lyrium supply… during unexpectedly long battles, or when sequestered in outposts that ran low of supplies. There are a number of confirmed deaths by men deprived of their lyrium," he answered gravely. "Lots of madness, just as the Chantry warns. Actually there is an infamous incident, I don't know if anyone outside of the Wardens knows about it, but a conscripted Templar went mad from withdrawal and began to slaughter other Wardens. He ran loose for several days, leaving a trail of bodies that he believed were darkspawn. I guess he was confused by the 'Warden sense' and stopped seeing the differences between the darkspawn and his fellow Wardens. After that the Wardens only conscripted former Templars as a last resort, or would try to get to them while they were still in training, before they were ever given their first draught." he explained. "They're a bit of liability, and not only because they put all the mages on edge."

He led her into the library, stopping to greet Catticus with an enthusiastic stream of coos and indecipherable noises. The fluffy cat soaked it up, demanding more attention with an insistent meow. Anders tut-tutted the cat into silence, then stood back up to look at Avery.

"We have a steady lyrium supply now, so it's less of an issue," he said. "Though Templars are still not the Warden's first choice."

"A steady supply from whom?" she asked.

"Not a person. We have our own lyrium mine, here in the Anderfels, with some Warden dwarves who process it before bringing it over. It's less than a day's journey away," he explained nonchalantly, and then added in a sing-song voice, "all the lyrium our little hearts desire."

Anders turned again and walked to a far stretch of shelves. The books there there were faded and dusty, with no words on the spine. She supposed those had to be the handwritten journals. Still there were so many of them; the sheer number was overwhelming.

"Okay," she said, thinking hard at the possibilities. "When did the Wardens establish the mine?"

Anders shrugged. "It was at least a hundred years ago. But that's as much as I know."

She nodded. "So maybe we start with a history book. A timeline of some sort, if there is one? We look for a period of time before the mine existed, where… maybe there was a point when they had to conscript a bunch of Templars for some reason? Whatever that reason might be. Desperation or something. And then they might be faced with the possibility of dealing with withdrawals. That would be the most likely time that any herbalist would research that potion, wouldn't it?"

Anders nodded. "Yes, that would make sense."

"Okay," Avery sighed, feeling slightly less overwhelmed. "Okay, so first step, find the year that the mine became productive. Second step, look for a large influx of Templars in the ranks sometime before then. If we find anything promising along those lines, then third step is locate herbalist journals from that period of time."

Anders flashed her a smirk, and motioned her to follow him. "I believe I know where to start."


	38. Chapter 38

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big chapter got too big, so I figured why not just make it an even 40 chapters! Which means the next chapter is half done and should hopefully be out soon

Avery's pillow was shifting under her head, something pillows were not necessarily supposed to do.

"Hawke?" came a soft voice, originating just above the flexing shoulder that her head had apparently fallen upon in her slumber. "Hawke, I think I found something."

The words were meaningless for the first few seconds that she blinked the fog out of her eyes, but once the words sank in, Avery sat up in a hurry. Her back cramped at the sudden motion, her joints aching with stiffness. Sleeping in a chair wasn't comfortable for long on even the best of days, and these old wooden chairs almost seemed designed specifically to keep their occupants from wanting to stay too long.

"What?" she asked in a raspy, sleep choked voice. In a narrow, distant window the sky was the milky blue of early morning. The black cat was curled into a ball, purring contentedly in Anders' lap.

"Here," he said, handing her an open journal. It was turned to a page near the back, the parchment yellowed and brittle, the text within uneven and smudged. Still, she saw the word "Templar" scrawled clearly in two separate places. Remembering what they'd spent the entire night searching for, she took the ancient book and placed it gently on the table before her.

"This is after the third incident we located in the history book," he said as he leaned close.

"The third incident?" Avery asked, trying to remember everything they'd read. Anders had made notes from the timeline they'd found, but they'd spent so many blighted hours reading already. So much of what she did manage to recall blurred into one long stream of jumbled information.

"Where citizens fleeing the fall of Hossburg came to Weisshaupt for sanctuary?" Anders said.

"Right," Avery nodded, slowly remembering. Hossburg was the capital of the Anderfels, and only several days journey away. "It fell at the end of the fourth blight."

"Yes. Everyone fled, and naturally that included the surviving Templars from the Hossburg Chantry. The herbalist then was an older woman named Riss, and she says here…" Anders said, taking the journal again and flipping forward several pages, his finger landing on a small passage at the bottom of the page, "that they are running low on lyrium and a few are beginning to get worried. And here…" he flipped forward two more pages, "that her healing potion doesn't seem to be having any effect on the problems plaguing the Templars. She says she's sent out for some Arbor Blessing, for a decoction that she hadn't used since the time she worked as an herbalist to a noble family in Val Royeaux."

"Val Royeaux," Avery nodded. That was important somehow, but her exhausted brain couldn't seem to find the strings of connection there.

Anders laughed quietly as he watched her blinking numbly at the page before her. Try as she did to concentrate, her exhaustion was bone deep. The day before had been a long, tumultuous one, and the night had stretched on endlessly while she and Anders had sorted through countless books. She couldn't have slept more than an hour, though the kink in her neck seemed to indicate otherwise.

"Val Royeaux… where the Seeker headquarters is? Also where all the brain dead Templars go to rot once they can't focus enough to chase down mages anymore?" Anders reminded her with another playful nudge. Avery nodded again. The pieces were coming together. "If anyone's going to be able to pry information about a secret potion away from those blighted Seekers it would be a local noble with endless coin to throw around. Probably someone trying to cure a son or daughter who ran off to join the Templars in a fit of rebellion and then came back home with their tail between their legs once they learned they actually had to _work."_

Avery frowned as she scanned through the old woman's shaky script. The scenario Anders conjured wasn't at all far-fetched, but she could imagine other scenarios where such a potion might also be required, ones infinitely more sympathetic. She herself was living in just such a scenario.

"Anyway, you read on and I'll go make us some tea. In your case... some very _strong_ tea."

Avery gave him an appreciative smile and stood up to stretch her back before dropping into the chair again to begin digging through the journal. After several false leads during the night, this certainly seemed the most promising one yet.

Avery could deduce several things about this Herbalist Riss just in reading through the first few pages. It was clear that the author certainly was older, as indicated by the shaky hand and large lettering, which was probably due to fading eyesight. It also seemed clear that this Herbalist was self taught and probablu foreign born. Her information was haphazardly organized and at times downright nonsensical, with occasional words thrown in that Avery did not recognize. But then, she realized, she had little knowledge of herbalism herself. For all Avery knew, it was just as likely that the foreign words could have been names for mixing agents or pieces of distillery equipment. As she read on she realized just how big a task sat before her. Even if they located the recipe and Anders understood how to recreate it, there was only so much she'd be able to take out of Weisshaupt with her. After that was used up, she'd need to know how to make more herself. No small feat for a woman with no real schooling in herbs and potion-making, besides what little had been imparted to her by her father nearly two decades ago. She sighed. It seemed she would need to beg Anders for a crash course in potion-making on top of all the help she'd already requested.

The cup of steaming tea was slid beside the journal just as she reached the last page, and she was immediately revitalized by the floral scent wafting up from the brown liquid. Anders had also plunked down a plate of sliced apples and cold chicken. Avery's stomach grumbled at the sight, and she stuffed an apple slice straight into her mouth without bothering to bite it down to a more manageable size.

"Do you have the next one?" she mumbled with a full mouth. "The journal that comes after this?"

Anders nodded and let Catticus resettle back in his lap before picking through a stack of books to his right.

"Anything?" he asked, nodding to the journal before her.

"So far she's gone on a bit about how difficult it is to grow Arbor Blessing, and how her apprentice just wrote that he has yet to find any," Avery mentioned before burning her tongue on the hot tea. After a wince she took another slow sip, and then cooled her mouth with another slice of apple.

Anders nodded in confirmation. "It is a pain in the ass," he said. "If it's a main component of this potion that alone explains a lot about why it was never rediscovered."

Avery sighed.

"It grows wherever it wants, in places that sometimes don't seem to share conditions or really make much sense at all," he continued.

"So you don't have any?"

"Oh I have a little," Anders answered. "Two plants. But mine have received quite a bit of _help._ "

"What do you mean by that?"

"Magic, of course. I've been keeping the same two plants alive since I arrived, giving them regular treatments of spirit healing so that they continuously regenerate. They normally only live about three months, and mine are _well_ past the point where they should have died. Several times over, in fact," he said. "The hardest part is getting one established in the first place, so once you have one rooted to a spot that seems to make it happy, then magic is really the only way I know of to keep it there. Their seeds disappear into Maker knows where, even in an enclosed garden such as ours. They're not like a bloody elfroot where one plant will just keep making babies on the same patch of ground for the rest of eternity."

Avery closed the journal before her and picked up her mug of tea, letting the steam warm her cheeks. "Spirit healing? It won't work with just regular healing, like what I can do?"

Anders shook his head, though it wasn't necessary. Avery pretty much knew the answer. Spirit healing was in a class of its own, capable of creating new cells and blood, and what boiled down basically to magical surgery. If she'd had it, she wouldn't have had to spend hours picking glass shards out of people after the Chantry explosion, or cutting Anon open to pull his rib out of his lung before she could heal him. Avery sighed. It would be a welcome gift to have, save for the fact that learning it would probably mean she'd have to extend her stay in Weisshaupt even more. "Guess I'll have to learn that too then, won't I?"

Anders snorted, flashing her a reassuring smile. "Of course I'll teach you that, love. You only ever needed to ask. And you've had enough experience with healing by now that you should take to it pretty easily. But let's find more information about this potion before we get ahead of ourselves, shall we?"

The sky grew brighter, and soon the trill chirps of birds were audible from the trees beyond the library walls. The plate of food was emptied and this time Anders was slumped onto the table, his face buried in a circle of arms and honey colored hair. Catticus had torn across the room randomly an hour or so earlier, just before another Warden had quietly entered and began perusing a shelf of more recent Theodosian literature. It was one of the men with the greying skin and missing patches of hair. Avery gave a polite nod and tried to stay focused in her journal. The man selected a small stack of books and slipped out of the room as quietly as he had entered.

Making sense of Riss's writings was proving to be more difficult that she'd anticipated, as the old woman's focus tended to wander, sometimes before she'd even finished a sentence. But at one point she'd written that she'd sent away to an old contact in Val Royeaux as apparently her attempts to mix the potion from memory were not yielding good results, and the situation with the Templars was becoming more dire. The story of this still unnamed potion was interrupted regularly by notes about injuries and illnesses experienced by the other Hossburg refugees. There was apparently a problematic breech birth where a mother experienced great distress and post-natal bleeding. There were broken bones and viruses that spread from people living in such close quarters, as well as something else she kept referring to being wrong with the Griffins. At times, often for many pages at a stretch, the information regarding the Templars was sparse.

Until an unspecified incident about halfway through the second journal. Something happening to the Templars required that the lot of them be placed in segregation, necessitating the recruiting of several of the refugees to assist Riss and function as caretakers. Riss then sent another, considerably more urgent message to her Val Royeaux contact. This contact, it turned out, was a Seeker, and the new message finally requested the potion by name. The hair stood up on Avery's arms as she looked at the words. The words that confirmed that the existence of a potion which soothed lyrium withdrawal symptoms was in fact no myth. _Dragon's Breath._

Avery jumped out of her chair, and whirled around on her feet. She wanted to yell, to cheer for joy despite her solitude in the giant room. She picked up the book and immediately remembered just how frail and aged the journal was, and then set it back down gently, before delivering an enthusiastic push to Anders' shoulder and nearly knocking him off his chair.

"We found it!" she hooted happily. "You were right! This is it!" Anders looked up, bearing the same foggy expression she figured she'd worn several hours earlier. He glanced around groggily and Avery repeated the words, her voice echoing off the library walls.

"Anders! Anders! We've got it!" she called, before bouncing in another circle. If the cat had been present, she would have picked the creature up and taken him on a waltz through the library isles. Instead she whirled around by herself while Anders rubbed the sleep out of his eyes.

The joy quickly got swallowed up by the sob climbing up her throat. So much worrying about Cullen, about the pain and confusion he would have to endure _again,_ about the pressure on her to be the one support he'd have through it all. Perhaps it wouldn't all be as difficult as she'd been fearing after all, for either of them. Perhaps she truly might be able to bring him some peace.

But what Anders had said was right, they shouldn't get too ahead of themselves. Though knowing she'd move heaven and earth to bring this potion back to Skyhold, they still had no idea what other ingredients were needed, or what the exact effect would be. All Cullen had written in his letter, and Riss in her journal, was that the potion "helped". They didn't say it "cured". They didn't say it shortened the duration of the detox. Still, if soothing symptoms was all that they could get, it was still so much more than nothing.

"Okay," said Anders after clearing his throat and scooting his chair away from the table. He'd shaken the sleep away and looked focused again, almost gleeful "So let me fetch some parchment and a few quills, and we'll start copying everything down. You'll want a copy of course, but I want one too. You never know when someone else might need this, and it'd be such a slap in the face to the Chantry to make this public! Can you imagine how pissed they'll be once they realize they no longer have any hold over the Templars with the good sense to ditch their ranks!?"

Anders stopped to plant a kiss on Avery's forehead, his brown eyes full and warm. He gave her shoulders a quick squeeze before sauntering toward a cupboard on the other side of the library.

Xxxx

The Warden's rookery was situated on the roof of the fortress, in an airy, reinforced gazebo type structure that overlooked the expansive Anderfels mountains. After another long stretch of morning spent hunched over the books, this time digging out potion details and writing until her hand cramped, and she was grateful to take a breath of fresh mountain air. She and Anders had marked their place in the books and transported them to Anders' desk in his quarters, before parting for a long-overdue break. Avery had washed up and changed her clothes, and then gorged herself on the contents of the kitchens before composing a note to Cullen. With every line she wrote, she wondered more and more if he was even receiving her letters in the first place. It seemed so severely out of character for him not to write back, but surely if there was any letter at all that would solicit a response, it would be this one, the one informing him that Dragon's Breath was not a myth, that she had found the formula and would be doing whatever was necessary to bring some home. Surely no matter how angry at her he might be, if that was even at the heart of it, he'd respond to _that._

Avery crossed the long rooftop toward the structure of squawking birds, with scroll clenched tightly in her hand. After writing what she could about the potion, she'd gone a little overboard with the pleas for a response. It seemed a lifetime since she'd last heard from him and it still sometimes seized her breath to consider the possibilities that might be keeping him so silent. She told him how desperately she loved him, and confessed her fears that he might be feeling something different for her now than what'd he'd claimed to feel for so long.

Yet she couldn't even say that if she had it to do all over again, that she would have fought Anon to make someone else come to Weisshaupt. If she hadn't come to Weisshaupt, she wouldn't be leaving with the treasure that she'd found there. No one else would have known that there even was such a potion to search for, and no one else would have gained Anders' help in digging out, and eventually, recreating it. She could only hope that when she returned home, anything that was wrong could be righted again. It would have to be.

"Excuse me? Sorry to disturb you, but I have a letter that needs sent, if the Inquisition might make use of one of your birds?" Avery called to the man bent over and cleaning out one of the cages. The large black birds were wandering freely within the screened in gazebo, allowed to roam while their caretaker scraped droppings from bars and perch bases and filled bowls. The man stood, and revealed himself to be unexpectedly young. He must have been Anon's age, or thereabouts, with a baby face that was almost comically peppered with an attempt at facial hair. The young man had cold grey eyes that seemed at odds with his creamy complexion and youthful cheeks.

"The Inquisition you say?" he asked, cocking an eyebrow.

"That's right," Avery answered as she stood on the outside of the screen, shivering at the high mountain breeze.

"I'm not sure about that…" he said. "There's something funny going on with their birds."

"Something funny?" Avery asked, ignoring his question. It was the first anyone had said anything at all about Skyhold's birds.

"We sent out two of our birds to Skyhold recently, the last one about three weeks ago. Neither of them ever returned," he said, setting down a bag of seed before picking up a wire bristled brush. "But one of their birds arrived early last week, bearing a message that clearly wasn't meant for us. It was addressed to a Knight-Captain in Emprise du Lion. We intended to let the bird rest here for a little while and then send him back out to the correct location, but it died. Just fell off its perch."

Though the news should have been frightening, a wash of relief flooded Avery's body.

"I spent three days disinfecting this whole place afterward, in case it was carrying something it could pass onto my birds," he said, not bothering to hide the note of annoyance in his voice.

"But your birds were fine?" Avery asked.

"Yep. Either it's not an illness or I caught in time. But either way, I don't want to risk my bird not returning again. Sorry Ser," he said with a shrug. Avery nodded and tucked the scroll back into her pocket. "We have couriers go out on foot sometimes for local deliveries, but there isn't one scheduled today. Though the nearest town should be able to send that out for you, on your way out of the Anderfels."

"Okay," said Avery. "Thanks for your time."

She didn't know yet when she would be leaving. After her next meeting with the Warden council, there was so much she still needed to go over with Anders. Avery sighed. Knowing that the lack of communication from Cullen could have just been due to a problem with their birds eased her mind more than it should have. Obviously it was a symptom of something else being wrong, but at least it was a possible excuse that didn't include Cullen just choosing not to write.

"Wait!" the boy called behind her. He let himself out a squeaky iron door and sprinted across the rooftop. In his hand was a scroll.

"Here's the letter that bird left. It's probably too late to be useful, but just in case you want to get it where it needs to go…"

Avery held her hand out and took the scroll. The wax seal bearing the Inquisition eye was broken, but the scroll itself was in good condition. Avery unfurled the paper. Her breath caught in her throat at the sight of Cullen's familiar handwriting. Clearly his ability to write hadn't been affected by his injury.

 

_Knight-Captain Briony,_

_Good work capturing Suledin Keep. I expect that area will not be easy to hold considering the concentration of Red Templars that have been reported, so I've ordered additional reinforcements to help fortify the Keep, as well as assist in rebuilding Judicael's Crossing. Please advise once it's completed._

_I'm a little concerned about the lack of updates regarding Captain Leo and Felice's current assignment, especially considering the reports they were looking into have very recently been proven to be inaccurate. Samson could not possibly be in Emprise du Lion as Captain Morgan claimed, since he is here in the Arbor Wilds. As of this morning, he is in my custody and accompanying us back to Skyhold as my prisoner. Please inform our good Captains Leo and Felice that their assignment is officially nullified, and they are now at your disposal. Free feel to send them back to Skyhold if you have no work for them there in Emprise du Lion, though I hardly think that should be the case. Please also have Captain Morgan thoroughly flogged for wasting the Inquisition's time and resources._

_Okay perhaps a flogging is a bit harsh, but at least make sure he is given the rot-gut brandy with his nightly rations and not the good stuff. Or perhaps just a stern warning to double check his sources in the future would suffice. I leave this in your capable hands._

_Regards,_

_Commander Cullen_

 

The letter had clearly been sent before anyone had any idea that there might be something wrong with the birds. If they even knew about that at all. Surely at some point it would become clear that communications were not reaching their destinations. The brief sense of relief was replaced by a new concern. This whole time she'd been assumed that Cullen had to have been receiving her letters, but perhaps he wasn't. Perhaps he was just as perplexed as she, or assuming that she simply wasn't writing at all. She could only hope that he knew better than that by now. But now the uncertainty only seemed to grow with each step back down into Weisshaupt.

Despite her lingering exhaustion, she felt only a new determination to finish reading the journals, to learn everything she needed to learn so that she could get back on the road home.

Anders was waiting for her in the kitchen with the journal open before him. He was sipping at a cup of tea and writing furiously. When Avery walked in and dropped into a stool he hardly even looked up. She watched him for a second, and when his sentence was complete he looked up with a beaming smile.

"We've got it, Hawke. The full recipe. And I already have everything we need."

 

Xxxxxx

 

 

It took two days for everything to be completed. The recipe was fairly simple: equal parts arbor blessing and amrita vein, mixed with an elfroot vinegar and the dust from a lifestone. The most difficult part was the preparation of the plants. The arbor blessing had to be in the form of a decoction, which meant a quick boil in a carrier liquid. While the amrita vein needed maceration, which was nearly the opposite treatment, requiring a the plant to be ground into a paste before steeping in a cold liquid for 7-12 hours.

"Fitting, I suppose," Anders commented as he put a topper on the final flask and set it in the rack to steep. Avery waited quietly for him to continue.

"That two plants found in vastly different climates require vastly different treatments to be able to work together. It's a wonder that anyone ever stumbled upon this combination at all. Your Knight-Captain sure is fortunate."

"That's not his title," Avery reminded him. Anders only snickered and rolled his eyes. He at least seemed to be more accepting of the idea of her loving a former Templar than he had been before. She could feel an air of heaviness around him, which Avery supposed could have been his disapproval. But it could just as easily have been Justice, or a number of other topics weighing on his mind. He had a wealth of reasons for such a mood already.

"Well Commander, then. Anyway, generations upon generations of Templars probably would have killed for this. But he will get it because of you, you will get it because of me, and I get it because the blighted Calling led me to Weisshaupt. I hope he appreciates just how impossible finding this would have been under literally any other circumstances."

There was little Avery felt the need to say in response. That Cullen would be grateful was both and understatement and a foregone conclusion.

Anders made both the decoction and the maceration in large batches, and while they were waiting for the amrita vein to steep, he pulled her out into the gardens and declared that they might as well get started on teaching her the peculiarities of learning Spirit Healing.

"So this will definitely help me keep the arbor blessing alive?" Avery asked as they made their way toward a far spot in the yard.

Anders nodded. "It'll also help you coax any seeds to sprout more quickly."

Avery smiled gratefully. It seemed surreal so that much was falling into place.

"Since you've recently been in the Fade, you have an extra leg up on this, Hawke," he began. "Our regular healing powers draw from mana, as you know. But Spirit healing calls upon the Spiritual entities that dwell in the Fade to assist in our efforts. These spirits will probably sense the Fade on you, and come to you more easily right now than they normally would. Plus with me to vouch for you, you can probably bypass all the trials and tests they normally put mages through to see if they're worthy. This is a major gift, Hawke. These spirits can protect and restore life with more power than any mage could call upon by themselves. So the first step, and something you must do regularly if you are to remain proficient, is connect with those spirits. Build a relationship with them."

Anders found a sunny spot of ground near a patch of blooming flowers and sat cross legged in the grass, motioning for Avery to join him.

"Regular meditation helps tremendously with this. You'll also find that these spirits will sometimes visit you in your dreams. Whatever you do, don't brush them off because you want to finish having sexy times with the stud you're dreaming about. Your success at Spirit healing is directly tied to the rapport you build with your benefactors. And as I'm sure you'd expect, demons will come to you disguising themselves as these very spirits in an attempt to gain access to your power. You're used to this already of course, but you _will_ have to learn to tell the difference."

Avery thought back to the Fade. If whoever it was that took the form of Justinia had been a good spirit, and it seemed pretty damn clear that it was, she'd certainly failed at building a rapport there. She's simply have to try harder in the future. There was no other choice, really.

"But how do you know whom to trust?" she asked.

"Well, kitten, you have to start by trusting yourself," he said. "Your gut instinct will tell you more in a millisecond than an hour of thought will. Now, do everything I say to do, and we might be able to get this done quickly."

Closing her eyes and crossing her legs, she listened intently to Anders' voice. He dropped it in pitch, speaking soothingly as he took her hand and quietly guided her through numerous relaxation exercises. She followed every directive he gave, focusing on releasing the tension in one muscle group at a time, letting her journey's worries drain out her body, starting from the top of their heads all the way to their toes. It didn't take long before she fell deep into what could only be described as a meditative trance.

When she opened her eyes, the sun was setting. The entire day seemed to have slipped away, and she'd barely felt it as it passed. But her memory was filled with scenes of an otherworldly place, of calm, ethereal voices in her ear and a convergence of peaceful energies that had conversed with her and Anders openly and enthusiastically. She remembered Anders surrounded by lights of a million changing colors, living in a rare peace and harmony with the spirit who shared his body. She remembered warmth coming from his hand and filling more than just her physical form, but bringing with it a sense of awe so intense it would have brought her to tears if she'd been awake. And perhaps she had cried, with eyes closed and mind removed to a timeless place.

What she felt in that place left an imprint on her soul. She felt peace, hope and vitality. She awoke feeling healthier than she'd felt in years, stronger and more vibrant than she'd been even in her youth. She felt like she could run the whole distance back to Skyhold in a single sprint.

Anders' warm brown eyes were watching her as she emerged from the mystical place they'd visited together, and for the first time since he'd appeared before her in the kitchen, she considered what a tragedy it would have been if she'd stuck a dagger in his back all those years ago. She'd still be here, certainly, but she wouldn't be leaving with the gifts that he'd bestowed. His help with the potion for starters, but now _this_ … this new learning that would change the way she healed forever.

And there was something else there between her and Anders, a new understanding. It seemed that they had communed in that strange place somehow, that their souls had touched more than just their Spirit visitors, but also each other. She knew now that he felt the weight of every death that he'd caused back in Kirkwall, that he'd spent the last three years healing and serving his fellow Thedosians indiscriminately, trying his damndest to atone for the atrocity he'd been pushed to commit. It seemed she had felt everything that he had, both before Kirkwall and after. She suddenly knew firsthand the force that had compelled Anders to make a bomb and secret it away within the most holy of places. It had all been well beyond his control. Justice, or more accurately named Vengeance, had pushed him toward its own ends with every means available. Vengeance had tortured his mind and his body relentlessly, picking and nagging, filling his body with urges, until Anders inevitably weakened and gave in, submitting to the promise that doing so might bring him rest.

And she'd heard the Calling, as faint as it had become. It was more than just a song, though it was certainly as beautiful as the stories claimed. It was almost a spell of its own, thick and invasive in her mind, vibrating with the terrifying portent of an imminent and violent ending. Whatever resentment remained for the Wardens and their actions at Adamant was now gone. They'd been just as compelled as Anders had been.

Avery's life seemed positively blessed in comparison to what she felt in while connected to Anders in that place. She'd never had a force within trying to control her toward actions she despised, never had her freedom and will negated by a powerful puppetmaster with its own agenda. In fact, her life had been one of extraordinary and uncommon freedom, from the moment she'd been born to parents who vowed never to subject their magical children to the stifling cruelties of the Circle.

She also knew that Anders felt her love for Cullen now, and that there would be no more silent disapproval. When she'd decided to seek the gift of Spiritual healing, she had no idea it would come with such profound understanding. The spirit that had touched her the most, whose fingerprint felt deeply embedded into her very essence, had clearly been that of compassion, drawn to the natural well of it that she already carried.

And she already had such a similar friend, had already been touched by the blessings of compassion back at Skyhold. He wasn't the same entity Avery had communed with in her mind, but Cole too fulfilled the same purpose, and did so against all adversity, offering healing to those who needed it in the same way that her new spirit friends would. She felt a new connection to him, and to all the spirits wandering the Fade offering their assistance. She vowed to seek Cole out as soon as she returned home to Skyhold, so that she could wrap her arms around him and tell him he was deeply appreciated, regardless of what anyone else at Skyhold had to say. She would assure him that he would always, _always_ have a friend.

With the amrita vein steeped, and another break for a cup of tea and plate of food completed, Anders began his next lesson. She'd added several sheets of parchment to her copy of what they'd recorded from the journals, and stood by the table with the complicated network of tubes and burners, taking meticulous notes about everything she saw. She drew pictures of the flasks, the burners, how things sat upon their rack, and every piece of the equipment being used, labeling each drawing as best as she could. She jotted down every step in the process once Anders began processing the prepped components, stopping to add Anders' sidenotes and helpful tips to its own page. From beginning to end they followed the information they'd taken from the journal, and Avery was surprised when the entirety of the mixing was completed in less than twenty minutes.

"Most of the real work happens in the preparation, as you saw. But we'll run through this again in the morning. And then I'll let you give it a go on your own," he said as he uncorked a shaker and poured the completed Dragon's Breath into its own sterile vial. The fluid was thick and orange but it seemed to breathe with life, shimmering with changing veins of red and yellow.

"Well I can see how it got its name," Avery commented. Anders cast her a blank look. "It looks like fire, doesn't it? You know, that hot stuff that Dragons spray at you?"

Anders snorted, "maybe at _you_. There's a reason I always stayed at the back of the group."

He held it up to the light and watched as the concoction continued to churn, nodding as he seemed to finally register the subtly changing colors. Even after it settled it still seemed to be moving. The flecks of lifestone dust reflected back tiny pieces of light that were colored with its orange hue.

"Too bad we can't test it," she sighed.

Anders laughed. "Seriously. Where _are_ all the detoxing Templars when you need them? So much for serving the people."

 

 

_Xxxxxx_

 

 

The last thing she expected when she saw the stablehand walking toward her with her horse, was sadness at leaving Weisshaupt. She hadn't wanted to come at all, and had dreaded her stay there for the entire trip in. And the last thing that she had expected to feel anytime she'd ever considered prospect of seeing Anders again was an overwhelming appreciation and affection. She most especially wasn't expecting this new reluctance to leave him behind again. But there she was, standing just inside the outer gate of Weisshaupt, her mind racing through any justification she could imagine as to why she needed to bring Anders back to Skyhold with her. That last year in Kirkwall had been an anomaly, and she knew now that was not her Anders at all. She'd always thought back then that that wasn't the Anders she knew, the one who'd been her best friend, and she was right. What had existed between them for the bulk of their years together, running even deeper than any romantic entanglement they'd embroiled themselves in, had been a true, genuine friendship. Anders was always generous with his knowledge and skills, teaching her everything she'd ever missed out on by not living in the Circle. And what he taught her in their more intimate moments had continued to enrich her and Cullen's life as well. Whatever greatness existed within Avery that had allowed her to become the Champion of Kirkwall, had existed at least in part because of Anders, even if things had all fallen apart in the end. She could even credit Anders with driving her toward the man she was truly meant for.

When she finally grabbed Anders up in a parting hug, she found it nearly impossible to let go. There was no mistaking the tears streaming down his cheeks after he'd eventually broke away.

"You have to go, Hawke," he said with a sniffle. "You have to go heal your Templar, and make lots of confused babies."

She laughed, feeling her own eyes fill again. In her pouch at her hip were three vials that gleamed and flickered like fire, in her pack was a new portfolio of papers, detailing everything she might ever need to know about the production of her new potion. And nestled beside that portfolio was a satchel of arbor blessing and amrita vein seeds, along with a pouch of lifestone dust, and two rather large, whole stones. The greatest gem in the collection was a cutting of Anders' arbor blessing, its stem wrapped in a moistened cloth and buried in a little leather cup.

"You'll need to use your new healing to keep this bud healthy while you travel," he said when he presented it to her. "It'll be good practice."

Avery nodded again, giving his shoulder one last squeeze before turning to take the reins of her horse.

"You'll write me won't you?" Anders asked.

"Of course I will. As soon as we work out whatever's wrong with those blighted birds," Avery answered before mounting her horse and turning alone toward the path leading deep in to the mountains.


	39. Chapter 39

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Went a little out of canon in this ending, but oh well! Cawke forever!

After a quiet night camped alone in the mountains, Avery finally reached the Inn where Kilborn and Cassie were supposed to be staying. It was a rickety wooden building along a narrow built into a cliffside, with the merciless sun hidden behind the jagged rocks of a towering peak. As soon as she passed through the Inn's door she was greeted with the scent of roasting meats that made her mouth water. It was too early in the day to get a room for the night, but she could certainly feast on whatever was cooking before the three of them departed. Avery approached the bar and asked for her companions by name. The man stationed there gave her a nod and reached under the counter.

"Uh, yeah. They asked me to give you this," he said, sliding a folded piece of paper toward her. Avery tilted her head, seeing her name scrawled across the front.

"Okay," she said. "Thanks. So, where are they?"

"I assume that will tell you," he answered with a shrug.

Avery slipped further down the bar, and placed an order for a bowl of whatever was on the menu and a tall flagon of ale. She sighed. She hardly needed to read the letter to have an idea of what it meant. They weren't there. They didn't wait. She opened the letter and scanned quickly, enough to confirm her suspicions. The surprise came at the end, when Cassie was revealed to be with child. They didn't want to chance the harsh journey back to Skyhold, nor rejoining a life of battle.

Avery handed the letter off to the bartender when he arrived with her food, asking him to dispose of it. She shrugged off the prospect of a solitary journey home. There would be a risk to that of course. She'd have to be more cautious about who she approached, or let approach her. But there might be benefits as well. She could move faster, with fewer stops. She could take whatever routes she chose without having to give any consideration to anyone else. It might work out for the best, as long as she could avoid trouble along the way.

As she took her first bite, she opened up Cullen's letters, flipping all the way to the back to finger through the last precious few. She wished she'd saved more for the journey home, but if she'd done that she might never have known about the potion. She supposed that once she finished she could just start back at the beginning. Or she could read through her notes for the potion, commit every step and detail to memory.

 

 

_Avery,_

_Maker's breath, I never thought I'd actually miss the heat of Kirkwall. I've taken to sparring with the former Templars that continue to stream into Haven, as much to try to thaw my blood as for the actual training. It barely works on most days, but I suppose I will acclimate eventually. At least I am not alone in my suffering. Many more of my Kirkwall men have shown up than I was expecting, though several have threatened to return to the North where it's not so bloody cold. Can't say I blame them to be honest. I am wondering just exactly what kind of Order even remains in Kirkwall. I know I should count it a blessing that our little endeavor here is starting out with such an impressive army, but they still call me by my former title no matter how many times I tell them not to. Force of habit is a beast I suppose._

_I have a little cabin in town, and there is a tavern, a spacious Chantry and plenty of space for my men to train. They are good soldiers, and I am proud to have their loyalty. As for our little group and the cause Cassandra has been so vocal about, it has recently gotten us officially denounced by the Chantry. But the Chantry that currently operates the Templars and condones a wholesale slaughter of innocent people is not the Chantry I vowed to serve anyway._

_It has taken a bit of time to come to terms with the fact that my attempt to find you seemed to come so close, but failed. But the truth is I don't know if I was close at all. There was no trace of you there, despite whatever tips those Templars had. It is just as likely that we were all chasing our tails and I was fooling myself with a bunch of misguided hopes._

_Still, I can't help but wonder what it would be like if you were here with me right now. If, somehow, I had found you, explained myself and convinced you to join me, how different would things be? I imagine you beside me as I lay alone in my bed at night. With this cold, we'd have no choice but to cling to each other for warmth, which would of course lead to other, equally warming activities. Maker's breath. This foolish fantasizing has been the cause of a number of sleepless nights. More sleepless than usual that is. What would your role be here in this endeavor of ours? Would you be our healer? Of course you would be. But perhaps you might also help me train the men? I did love to watch you fight. You were such a natural, with so much grace._

_No, this is absurd. It's time for me to move on. It's been too long, and my search was fruitless. I need to focus on my men. We are still trying to determine whether it would be worth it to travel out to the new conclave ordered by Divine Justinia. She seems to want an end to some of the madness, the same as we do. But the last conclave didn't end so well, did it? Perhaps we might be able to prevent such a disaster from being repeated? Or perhaps we might be the cause of a new conflict since the Chantry's denounced us so publicly. I confess that I have considerably less insight into this matter than Cassandra and Leliana do, since they both know the Divine personally. So I will defer to whatever they decide. But I am rather hoping we just stay out of it._

_Stay safe, Avery._

_Cullen_

 

 

 

 

Riding through the Anderfels was a confusing experience to say the least. The high elevation mountain tops were excruciatingly cold, while the valleys at the base were stiflingly hot. The dry air seemed to sap all the moisture from her skin and lips, burning her eyes as she rode against the blazing wind. The land had gone from white to grey, grey to brown, and the morning she'd made the final descent into the parched lowlands she'd had to stop repeatedly to remove layers of clothing. Thankfully the path from Weisshaupt had been marked clearly enough that she could let her horse do most of the navigation. Avery couldn't help but laugh at how counterproductive it was to the Warden's explicit desire for secrecy. But she supposed there was no helping frequently trodden paths from wearing into the earth, especially through a mountainside that offered so little in the way of alternative routes. As the day dragged on she fell back into her quiet place, where images played in vivid color behind her eyes, reflecting over everything that had occurred and projecting forward into the future unknown.

A weight on her shoulders had been lessened, but it wasn't gone completely. She still didn't know if the potion they'd made would work, and to what degree. She didn't know if Cullen would even be at Skyhold when she arrived. The letter that was meant for the Emprise du Lion was dated nearly three weeks ago, and he'd said there that he was starting back to Skyhold the following morning. But would there be cause for him to leave again? And just how far along would the Inquisition be now in their pursuit of Corypheus? By her estimation, it would have been nearly five and half months gone by the time she finally returned Skyhold, as long as she could continue to make good time during each day's ride. It seemed a gargantuan chunk of time, and the most reassuring thing that she carried with her was Cullen's letters. If he could love her for four years, and she held the physical proof of that in her hands, surely another six months hadn't been the strain that she'd been fearing? Despite the exchanging of letters they'd shared up until Adamant, and the few precious hours they'd had there together, could it possibly compare to four years of being left in the dark to wonder? This time was not only shorter, but things were so very different. She traveled with his surname and a new meaning to the ring on her finger, and he carried the knowledge that this time she would do everything in her power to come home.

The arid, scorching Anderfels bled into the milder, northernmost reaches of Orlais just as the first fortnight passed. The grasses there were stunted and dry from the constant sun, and Avery made a point of traveling east and into the lakelands, desperate to find some moisture and wanting to keep as much land as possible between her and that blighted Western Approach.

She town hopped through Orlais, staying the night at various Inns and partaking in whatever offerings were available from the kitchen, then sleeping fitfully after reading the next in Cullen's letters. They were growing shorter now, especially since the letter mentioning the conclave disaster and the young elf with the glowing hand who was dragged unconscious into Haven. Suddenly his ragtag group and supporting mountain town had a new purpose: fighting the enemy that had risen from the dead and destroyed what was yet another attempt at a peacemaking conclave, and ripped holes in the veil all over the lands. There was a distance in Cullen's words that showed that he was truly attempting to move on from his fixation on Avery, helped as he was by his new responsibilities and new friends. Each turn to the next, even shorter letter than the last was bittersweet. She would not have wanted Cullen to continue to hurt over her, but she'd have to end the night with a revisit to an older letter, or a much, much newer one, so that the words left in her mind as she slept were loving ones, words that stopped her from feeling the distance between them as acutely.

 

Rifts were still visible in many areas, though she knew Mahanon had closed the ones he'd encountered in all the lands he'd visited. Still, from atop her horse Avery would see their distinctive green glow, shimmering with a sickly light in distant valleys and hilltops, surrounded by circling creatures that from far away looked like long legged bugs or tiny green wisps. She couldn't help but think of Stroud, valiantly staying behind to fight yet another menacing demon. If he did survive, how in the void would he make his way out of the Fade? Would he be stuck there? Trapped and wandering until he came upon something stronger than his ability to fight? Or perhaps he might be fortunate enough to encounter another spirit, one who would be willing to help him outwit his trappings. Perhaps even whatever it was that had appeared as Justinia would still be around, helping Stroud along until he found an exit. Avery resolved to ask this question the next time she meditated.

The arbor blessing remained unchanged, no doubt helped by the daily bursts of spirit healing. She called up a new magical connection now, one that existed separately but parallel to every mage's usual tether of mana. It was like listening to the striking of a harmonious musical chord; it pulsed and changed depending on which spirit answered her call, but always stayed breathtakingly in tune. She could feel the lifeforce that left her fingers fortifying the pale flower petals, imbuing what was normally so delicate with a strength beyond their mortal world. The sensation of this new magic was unexpectedly pleasurable; it seemed so much more than mere healing. She'd even dare to think that it partly satisfied the desire within her that she'd carried since Kirkwall, the desire to nurture and give life to something in the world. Regular healing merely staved off death, but rarely did it add something new of its own, something enriching and unique that would be carried along with the vessel it had repaired.

Another fortnight, and the Waking Sea appeared in the distance off to her left. It winked at her in the sunlight, like an old friend that she wasn't on good terms with but which she couldn't avoid seeing. Within that sea was the water that accompanied her and Cullen at the ledge, churning and restless but offering brief respite from the madness of the city. Avery couldn't help but replay so many moments on the ledge as her horse galloped along through tall waving grasses and over graveled pathways.

It was by that sea that Avery found a little flower Cullen had left in a confessional letter. It was the sea where Cullen was almost drowned by the weight of his armor; where Avery was almost drowned by the weight of her sadness. It was the site of their first accidental kiss and of their second deliberate one. She remembered how she'd smiled when she saw how neatly he folded the leather coat she left him in the chest at the water's edge. It was such a silly thing, but full of such consideration. She recalled how the churning sea misted over her face when he told her that he'd changed his mind and he did want to leave Kirkwall with her after all. Two days to wrap up some things and get some lyrium, and then they would escape their separate lives in order to seek a new, shared one. That had been the plan until the chantry exploded. Until that sea carried her to a little island in a harbor for the first battle in a long war, a battle that would leave the Templars without a Knight-Commander and Cullen carrying the weight of a devastating mantle.

The memories made Avery breathless, her chest clenching with longing for what could have been. If she'd stayed behind and fought for him, could she have changed his mind? Would the child she'd unknowingly carried have lived? Would she be on this horse, crossing all these miles, mustering up strength and energy for the return ride home that came only from the deep well of her love? The questions would never have answers, but it was enough to know that they'd found each again, and all that they'd felt back then hadn't been completely lost. After a day or two with the distant glinting blue as her nostalgic companion, she bid the sea a grateful goodbye and left it somewhere beyond the horizon.

 

In the Dales she finally returned back to the same trail they'd taken on their way toward the Western Approach, and brought her horse to rest in the first Inquisition camp. The guards there were familiar, greeting her with concern at her lack of companions. They offered to send along a guard to accompany her for the rest of her journey, and it took vigorous reassurances that she didn't need one before they finally gave up the argument. It was nice to feel so protected, even as she couldn't help but wonder if it was her new station as Cullen's wife that encouraged some of the effort. Still, the speed she'd gained traveling alone had made the strain worth the solitude. And now that she would see a few more camps before hitting the next mountain range, her solitude would also be lessened. She collapsed beside the fire, allowing the dutiful men to care for her horse and her gear, and read Cullen's very last letter. It was achingly short.

 

 

_Avery,_

_I write this from a camp deep within the Frostbacks. We seem to be beginning a new chapter in our journey here, and I do not know what will happen next. Haven has been lost and the Herald of Andraste stayed behind to confront Corypheus. Whether he lived or died in the avalanche is still unknown, and the days of wondering is causing tensions here to brew and our spirits to sink rapidly. I confess I don't have much love for this arrogant little man, but he is the only one who can close the rifts, and his decisions thus far have been surprisingly effective. Now that he is lost, I wonder if this might be the end for the Inquisition. It's a strange thing to consider, since we functioned just fine before he came along. But now we have no base, we are wandering aimlessly about in the cold, and it seems so unlikely that anything might come along to help dig us out of this hole. Perhaps a miracle may still yet appear, at least that's what Mother Giselle continues to say._

_I find myself grateful that you were not there in Haven, and that you are nowhere near us at the moment. If you'd been found in Denerim and returned with me as I'd stupidly hoped, you'd have been at risk of the avalanche just like the rest of us. I would never have forgiven myself for bringing you to the place of your possible ruin. I am certain now that this is for the best. Our goal is a dangerous one, and unless Mahanon is found I don't see what chance we have at success. Hopefully you are safe out there somewhere with no marching armies or attacking demons. I pray that you are warm and happy somewhere far away from me._

_Cullen_

 

 

The lushness of the Dales began to recede the further east she traveled. The land went from low and grassy to rolling hills with the occasional cool breeze to wash away the Dalish humidity. At night, while stopped in camp, she studied her map of the Frostbacks and considered the few trails that led into the rocky spine of mountain. Once closer to Skyhold the trails all merged into one main pathway, but getting up to that point could be done in several different ways. Her pace since leaving the Anderfels had been remarkably swift, but she knew it would slow considerably as soon as she reached the Frostbacks. Climbing up into rocky terrain took so much more focus and energy than normal travel, both for her and her horse.

The guards at the camps had confirmed the problem with the birds, saying only that there were no birds available as they were all undergoing some kind of treatment. Avery chose to take this information and think no more of why she'd received no communication from Cullen, but that did not stop her from writing to him. Now that her portfolio of letters was completed, she alternated between rereading her most cherished ones and writing lengthy, heartfelt letters of her own, pouring out her journey's frustrations and all the pent up longing, thinking at the very least she could return the beautiful gift he'd given to her. Surely it wouldn't always be easy to read, just as his hadn't been, but it would fill in the gaps for him, and reassure him that all that time he spent wondering about her, she'd been doing the same.

And write she did, with page after page filled, until she'd had to make a special stop off trail in order to purchase more parchment. She told him all about the four years they'd been apart, about her brushes with Templars, and her and Fenris' adventures in far off lands, including how they'd spent 8 months wiping out every slaver in Ferelden that they could locate. She told him about the day at the Denerim tavern that she heard a fight in the barroom, and was stopped at the bottom of the stairs by a thin, dark haired girl just before she entered to investigate the ruckus. She told him about the dreams she had, both waking and unconscious, of children running into their arms, of lazy nights alone together by a fireplace, of leaning on each other when they were both old and grey. She reached into the furthest depths of her writing ability, composing a whole novel to describe just how intensely she longed for him, how she ached for the woodsy musk of his skin, the spot in the center of his chest and along his neck where that scent collected. He'd always laughed at her when she'd dig her face into those places and took a deep breath, but it had been like taking a breath of life itself. She'd lay at night on her bedroll and breathe into her pillow, desperately trying to find that scent in her memory.

She wrote about how she longed for the changing warmth of his amber eyes, and how he looked at her as though she was the only one in Thedas. She wanted to sit again with him in a late night kitchen and watch his skillful hands turn basic ingredients into a feast fit for nobility. The words were endless, spilling out over the late night hours, hours she knew should have been spent sleeping. But she came to understand the catharsis that Cullen had once mentioned regarding his own letters. The need that pulsed through her during nearly every waking minute was no intense that it demanded some kind of release, and it helped to let it flow through her quill and into the parchment, even as she pushed herself to stop her horse later and later each evening, and begin each day while the sky was still dark. She was exhausted, but there would be time to rest when she could do so in her husband's arms. Or so she hoped.

 

The Frostbacks came to her slowly, beginning first as a shimmery haze above the horizon, and then solidifying into a wall of shadow. The peaks grew sharper as she approached, slowly coming into vivid detail. And finally, countless days after she'd set out from Weisshaupt, she sat at the Frostback trailhead, having chosen a new route from the one they'd taken out of the mountains so many times before. According to her map, this one should traverse fewer of the frightening ledge passes, while not taking her out of the way and unnecessarily elongating the trip. She'd put off thinking about the bridge into Skyhold itself, the first time she would travel it alone. She'd trust her horse to make the passage, the same as he had so many already, but still a shudder of fear passed through her at the prospect, and she quickly erased it from her thoughts.

Travel through the mountains was as frustratingly slow as she remembered. The horse couldn't gallop through vast tracts of mountainside without danger of losing its footing, so she let him set the pace he felt was right and tuned as much of the journey out as possible, attempting even to meditate for a bit while on horseback. Relaxing as deeply as that required jostled her body a little too roughly and put her in danger of sliding completely off the horse, so the attempt was abandoned. For the first time she found herself truly wishing for some company. Varric would have been the perfect companion on such a tedious hike, with all the endless stories he could tell to take her mind away to another place. She'd nearly exhausted her own mental inventory, finding fewer and fewer corners of fantasy left to explore. Instead, as she watched clouds and birds fit across the sky, she looked toward the future, especially how different things might be with a way to calm Cullen's lyrium cravings. The thought occurred to her that he might be persuaded to try to quit lyrium again right away, and that Anon didn't exactly need to know. At the very least they could perhaps lower his dosage, so that Cullen might subsist on merely a sip, rather than an entire draught. Though the honest, trustworthy man she adored might be _too_ honest to disobey his Inquisitor's orders, as distasteful as they were.

For a good portion of the day, as the air grew colder and her ears began to pop, she found herself praying. She'd done so little of it since the holy disaster that was her last days in Kirkwall, but hope was alive within her again. She prayed that the Inquisition see quick success, that the potion she carried be everything she and Cullen hoped, and if there must be more travel, that Cullen could accompany her. She prayed that Fenris was settling in comfortably back at the Hightown estate, that someone at Weisshaupt besides his cats might be forgiving enough to befriend Anders, that Bull truly help to ease the unrest within Anon, and that the Inquisition members might become more accepting of Cole. She prayed for every friend she'd ever had, and all those she had yet to make. Mostly she prayed for rest, for a stable home and a quiet life that she and Cullen could fill with love and laughter.

 

The rift came seemingly out of nowhere. One minute she'd been watching a cloud slowly take the shape of a six legged nug, and the next minute the hair standing up on her arms was revealed to be much more than just a typical frigid chill. The horse reached the summit of a rocky ledge and ran smack into a vortex of Fade light. It churned and hovered over a level section of pathway, swarming with energies that awakened Avery's magic and brought sparks to her fingertips in a series of small, uncontrolled surges.

The world was immediately consumed by the glowing green blur. Shapes screamed and whirled around her, hitting her with blasts of a cold, dark magic that pulled the wind from her lungs and brought bile to her throat. The horse too went straight into a panic, knocking Avery off balance and sending her listing down the side of the saddle. The horse's nostrils flared, the whites of his eyes gleaming like ivory as Avery hit the ground, struggling to keep a tight hold of the reins with one hand, while pulling on the staff secured to the pack on her saddle with the other. The horse pranced and fought to retreat, bringing the staff into reach for only a second before yanking it away again, his hooves slipping against the slope of the trail. Nothing was working quickly enough; the staff wasn't budging from its loop, the horse chuffed and reared, trying to pull free of her grip as she tried to yank him closer, tried to get to the button that secured the loop to her pack. White heat seared up her leg as the horse's iron-shod hoof came down hard onto her toes. Pain erupted in her back, her head, the demonic magic feeling like boulders hurled through the air, landing in a constant barrage over her body. Her heart pounded through her ears as she tried to raise a barrier while simultaneously fighting the horse to let her retrieve her staff. She was grunting with the effort, pulling, struggling to stay close to the side of the dancing mount while keeping aware of the danger at her back.

All at once the pack came free with a rip, crashing down on top of her as she fell to the ground.

Staff quickly in hand, she pushed off the pack and scrambled to her feet, turning to face the threat behind her. Magic coursed through the staff, pulled into razor sharp focus by the charging moonstone at its head. Avery relinquished the mental hold on her mana and let it blast through the staff without reserve, sweeping a wall of electric energy toward the approaching figures. Chains of lightning lit each body in a flickering purple cage, with tendrils of light jumping from wraith to shade to wraith, stunning each long enough to allow Avery to take another breath. She steeled her back and dug her feet into a level piece of earth before following up with a wintry storm powerful enough to turn the electric stun into frozen stillness. With the demons temporarily locked into place, she returned to her electricity, letting the charge travel along the frozen water and cling to each paralyzed body, imbuing the ice with an explosive power. If the creatures before her had cells in their flesh, the cells would have burst, confused by the swift change from intense cold to intense heat. But these were not true physical beings, and in the space of a breath she remembered the truth of these rifts. Even if she managed to destroy the demons before her now, more would come. They would continue to come without cessation, eventually exhausting her ability to fight.

She swept another wall of ice at them and noticed the buzz of the rift itself, seeming to intensify in preparation for the passing through of another fleet of demons. Heart lodged in her throat, she realized there was no time to waste. Turning back toward the path that brought them here, she looked down the steep hill and saw only a trail of hoof prints in the snow, growing smaller as they aimed toward a distant bend in the trail. The horse was gone. Rocky peaks on both sides bottlenecked the path, leaving only two options: to return the way she came or rush forward past the rift, if she could manage to make it before the wraiths broke free of their icy prison.

The adrenaline numbed the burden of her pack, filled so many weeks earlier without regard for its weight, but still she manged to sling it over her shoulders and run, weaving between now struggling demons and feeling the spray of frozen particles hit her face as they slowly broke apart their icy casings. The trail was covered in a blanket of snow that was only just deep enough to obscure any crevices and rocks. Twice her foot slipped off the path and her ankle twisted as it caught. Still she ran through the pain, trudging over icy mountain swells and around sharp bends, her traction failing as her boots scraped over smooth patches of ice and loose rock. Determined to put as much space between her and the rift as possible, she pressed onward until the pounding in her head began to slow her pace, each heartbeat reverberating through her skull like the strike of a sledgehammer. She staggered to a stop and paused a moment to breathe, but one breath wasn't enough. Her cells were screaming for air; the atmosphere at this altitude too thin to support such a strenuous pace. She cast a wary glance behind her. It was empty. She collapsed in relief. At her back lay only ice and snow surrounding the occasional grey peek of frozen stone. Thankfully, the demons had fallen back, with no trace of them continuing to give chase.

 

The weight of her pack made itself known within seconds. With a relieved sigh, she cast it off and breathed until her head returned to its normal size, the pounding at her temples slowly receding as the chill of the air hit the light sheen of sweat coating her skin. The reality of the situation before her slowly crept in, sitting heavily in her aching gut. Unless her mount miraculously reappeared ahead of her, in the opposite direction that it had fled, she'd be making the rest of the journey on foot.

The rush of blood in her ears was replaced by the calm, unconcerned bluster of the mountain wind, whistling around rocky crags and moving the top dusting of snow around in miniature cyclones. Avery began to shiver, feeling the cold travel down the moisture trapped beneath her leathers, replacing the warmth of her body heat with a frigid chill. At her waist it was especially apparent, and Avery let her head fall, gazing over her resting body. She realized with a start just where it felt the most wet and her hands instinctively flew to the pouch at her belt that held her supply of potions. Before she'd even pulled open the flap she felt the grinding and crackling of broken glass. With a wince and a dispirited groan she removed the pouch from her belt, holding it up before her to peer inside. Viscous purple fluid - the combined contents of her healing potions and lyrium — dripped from the bottom corners of the leather, splattering over her thigh and boring holes through the snow.

The Dragon's Breath had all been in the leftmost, back corner of the pouch. She'd hoped that keeping those three precious vials closest to her body would offer them some protection in the case of a catastrophe, but at least one of them was destroyed completely. The only cause she could imagine for the destruction was when she'd fallen to the ground after freeing her pack from the horse. It had nearly knocked the breath from her lungs as it landed heavily onto her stomach. She cursed quietly at first, and then realizing she had no reason not to yell, cried an angered wail into the valley on the other side of the trail. Her voice disappeared, falling flat against the empty space and returning no hints of an echo.

Gingerly she picked through the thin shards of glass, trying to clear out enough mess to see if there was anything that might be salvaged. Of the three vials, once was gone, one was irrevocably cracked, with half its contents leaked out. But one solitary tube remained whole. She pulled it free from the pouch and picked small flecks of broken glass off the sides, wiping it down with the sleeve of her cloak. She had nothing suitable to pour the half full potion into, so she sat for several long minutes, watching the orange mixture drip slowly out and into the snow beside her leg. Each lost drop felt like a physical blow to her chest as it disappeared into the carpet of white.

It occurred to Avery that the potion was still completely untested. She knew what it was _supposed_ to do, but even that information was incomplete. If she took some of the potion herself, she could experience first hand what, if any, unexpected side effects might come as a result. Or at least have some assurance that what Cullen was going to put into his body wouldn't somehow cause more discomfort.

With a sigh and shrug, she emptied the cracked vial into her mouth, swallowing down the bitter liquid quickly before following with a deep swig of icy water from her canteen. She sat for another long moment, waiting for something to happen. She watched the clouds in the sky, more of them now than just a few hours before, all of them seeming to gather and join into one large blanket. She drank more from her canteen, replacing the fluids she'd burned off as she ran. Finally she finished clearing out her pouch, and replaced the one surviving vial in the center before securing it back to her belt.

The last thing she did before she rose to her feet, was rifle through her pack for items that could be discarded. She'd never make it if she had to carry it at the weight it was now. She'd need to keep the small copper pot if she was going to collect snow to be melted for water, as well as cook any food. The little library of letters and potion notes wasn't going anywhere, neither were the potion ingredients given to her by Anders. She had a small sack of foods she'd picked up just before heading into the mountains, and that was going to be as important as ever. The trip on foot would take longer than on horseback, so her rations would need to be stretched further than planned. Thinking ahead, she decided she'd start keeping her eyes alert for the possibility of any game to be hunted. Even a couple birds, if she could manage to capture them, might provide enough for a day or two.

When she replaced the pack on her shoulders and began taking heavy steps back along the path, she left behind a pile of clothing, and numerous other supplies. Any article of clothing that wasn't cold-weather worthy or couldn't be layered under her leathers was discarded, including her nightclothes and several mage robes, as well as an extra pair of shoes. She almost tossed a small, hand held mirror, but thought better of it. In a tight spot she might be able to use the mirror to signal someone by flashing reflected sunlight. But she tossed out her hairbrush, figuring she'd use her daggers to just cut away all the extra length her hair had acquired over the past few years, making keeping it untangled a little easier.

The daggers themselves would stay, and she was glad to have packed a smaller pair in the first place. They'd be crucial if she actually was going to have to butcher and clean any game, and they'd proved themselves indispensable multiple times on her journey already. Lastly, she tossed the sack of grains for the horse, and said a little prayer that her mount find its way back to the Inquisition camp at the base of the mountain. They were only a few days from the trailhead, and once the horse got lower in altitude he might be able to find some grass to graze upon. He'd been with the Inquisition for quite some time before he'd been handed off to Avery. There was a good chance that he knew to stick close to the trail until he found a camp.

 

The rest of the day was a struggle. Having spent so much time on horseback, her legs weren't used to having to climb over the trails herself, especially bearing the extra weight of her pack. She had to stop regularly to rest her shaking muscles. She noticed not long after she started out again on foot that her mind was especially sharp and clear, and an intense serenity permeated her body, seeming to allow some part of her to ascend above and beyond the physical pains and discomforts of her trek. She could only conclude it was the potion, fortifying some part of her spirit or soul against the weakness in her body and the onslaught of the elements surrounding her. It was a welcome release from the bindings of the physical world, transporting her sharpened mind beyond the constraints of her mortal body but not so far that she couldn't experience the world the around her, and appreciate the effort required to keep moving forward. Though making progress was hard work, it was work that kept her warm and made the hours pass quickly. When the sun disappeared behind a mountain and the blue drained from the sky, she made a hasty campsite and blasted some logs with a stream of fire, before collapsing in her bedroll and falling almost instantly to sleep.

She woke late in the night, roused from sleep by the hunger cramping her stomach. She tossed a fresh log onto the embers of the dying fire and ate a piece of jerky and a crust of bread, before falling into unconsciousness again.

Each day after was a slog, her muscles groaning with overuse, her knees aching until she had to stop to apply a blast of healing to numb the pain. There was little time for meditation, though the arbor blessing remained unchanged and alive. She laughed at the temptation to take the last of the Dragon's Breath potion, remembering breathlessly how much more pleasant just being in her body seemed for that first day on foot, and that had been with only half a draught. She resisted the urge, though a little voice in the back of her head reminded her that she would be making more at the soonest opportunity. That potion was never meant for her, and surely the pain of mountain climbing paled in comparison to withdrawal and detox from a toxic addiction.

She did manage to catch a few birds, including one wild turkey with enough meat on it to dry out for many more days' portions, which she wrapped in a fresh cloth and tucked into her pack. It came just in time, as the next day her trail met up with the one that would eventually lead to the Skyhold bridge. Turning onto the deeply carved pathway, she knew she was high enough now that the possibility of any game would virtually disappear.

The reminder of the bridge crept into the back of her mind almost constantly. Without a horse, without any companion to lean upon, she'd have to make the crossing alone and on foot. There'd be no closing her eyes. And there'd be no reaching Cullen if she couldn't make it. The mere prospect sent the world around her spinning, making her have to clutch her staff and dig it into the pathway until the vertigo cleared and her stomach settled.

 

One night she woke as the fire died and the chill seeped into her bedroll, which had become the routine. But there was something different about this night, some new charge of energy in the air. The first thought upon waking was that a rift was opening, and she sat up with adrenaline already beginning to flow through her veins. But as the seconds ticked past, and no green glow appeared, nor that distinctive and familiar scent of the Fade, she relaxed again. The fire flared back to life with the addition of another log, but somewhere up high, she heard a sound. Something unnatural, something she'd never heard in her countless nights of camping alone. She peered up into the sky, looking toward the source of the sound, and what she saw froze her blood. The moon was full and reflecting brightly off a patina of clouds, but in the distant sky there was a gap of light, a large black patch that the moonlight didn't touch. She watched it breathlessly, blinking hard at the image, trying to figure out just what she was seeing. She jumped at the first flash of red light that she saw, a thin beam that appeared from behind the darkness and then disappeared just as quickly. It was followed by another, and then another, some nothing more than a mere hint of a glow, others appearing to be a sustained blast, aimed at something or someone, and with intelligent purpose.

And then the sound came again, drawing her eye to two circling shadows. When they passed before an especially illuminated section of cloud, their silhouettes resolved themselves into what at first could have looked like birds. But the sound was not that of a bird at all. They were dragons, chasing each other through the sky, flashing streams of fire back and forth, and at multiple points merging into a single form before beginning to plummet toward the earth.

She could only wonder if part of her brain was still dreaming. There was a battle being waged, but it was happening far enough away that it seemed to pose no immediate threat. She shook the images out of her head, unable to make any sense of the big black island in the sky. She let herself fall back into her bedroll, surrendering to the lingering exhaustion in her bones and hoping she'd be able to make sense of it all in the morning.

 

The next morning was grey, with the clouds hanging so low and heavy that no sky was visible at all beyond them. She went about her morning routine, packing up her gear and boiling some water for tea before the memory of the strange blackness in the moonlit sky came back to her. She turned immediately to gaze up to the place she thought she remembered, but all that was there was a fat white cloud, one among many that seemed to be threatening snow.

The snowflakes started falling only a few hours into the day, peppering her dagger-shorn hair in large fluffy clusters of white. The wind died almost completely, which was unusual for the high elevation, and the journey through the mountain approached something close to pleasant. The landscape was softened by the falling snow, the flakes drifting lazily through the still air and draping a curtain of white over the valleys, with only the quiet crunch of her footsteps to break the silence. She floated through the day imagining all her favorite features of her husband, filling the blank canvas of white before her eyes with the memory of his body. His broad, strong back, which on a Kirkwall ledge was the first thing that caused her gaze upon him to linger. The straight spine that curved down toward a pair of irresistibly male hips, crowned by two dimples at the small of his back. She loved trying to wrap her arms completely around his shoulders in their quiet moments. The bulk there was so solid, his thick pads of muscle flexing and rippling over a strong, perfectly built frame. She loved how she'd wake in the night to find his hand clasping hers, his forehead resting on her shoulder, or his thigh sliding between her knees. The fantasizing fired up that familiar, constant hunger inside her and she scarcely knew how she was going to survive another day without his kiss. When night fell she sat by the fire, mindlessly swallowing her nightly rations and imagining herself ending such a beautifully wintry day in the best way possible: soaking in a warm bath, snugly fitted into Cullen's arms.

Another long day, another cold night in the bedroll. She'd modified her tent, cutting away the front wall so that she could place it close to the fire, leaving no barrier between her and the radiating heat. Waking to tend the fire had become routine, with a small stack of gathered sticks and logs laying within arm's reach so that she barely needed to roll over in order to toss a fresh one into the coals. Her days and nights were marked by routines, ones that had become so effective and ingrained she barely needed to be mentally present to complete them. Her mind returned to Cullen more than ever now, knowing that seeing him in the flesh was only days away.

Each morning she first scanned the map and then the path ahead, looking for familiar features that would help her pinpoint her exact starting location and mark the day's progress.

 

The last stretch of trail appeared almost before she was ready, but somehow also came agonizingly late. Each step forward brought conflicting emotions shuddering through her body. The promise of Cullen, of rest, of the journey's end drove her forward and kept her from looking down the steep ledges into the valleys that would have paralyzed her with their heights. But each step also brought the bridge closer, the crossing of a narrow tether that connected a mountain peak to a distant fortress in the sky. Chills traveled up her back, making her hair stand on end, but she knew it wasn't due solely to the cold. The snow had stopped falling, and the wind had returned, each powerful gust an ominous portent of the danger ahead.

Of course she knew others would laugh at the fact that she even considered it a danger. It was merely a bridge, its whole purpose to bear one safely from one side to the other, and made of magically reinforced stone that had held strong for several ages now, at least according to Solas.

Still, all the logic in the world couldn't alter the high winds and practically nonexistent rails. If only the thing wasn't so blighted narrow. If only it had barriers on either side that could hide the devastating drop below from view. Despite the growing urgency to see Cullen, she found her steps growing slower, her body numbed into a near-paralysis by icy veins of fear.

Her first view of Skyhold should have been a relief. For months and months of travel she'd wanted nothing more than to see these fortress walls, to listen to the song of the birds who shared their mountain oasis, to wake each morning to her husband's warm skin and sleepy musk. Slowly, the bridge came more clearly into view, the narrow path at her feet led first to an unmanned outpost, and the bridge stretched far beyong, floating through the air before connecting with Skyhold's vestibule gate. By the time she made her final approach, her heart was racing, the blood flowing so quickly to her head that she was already feeling breathless and unsteady on her feet.

The gorge that opened up before her was bigger than her mind could comprehend, an unending, gaping mouth of the world that sat awaiting its next victim. Once clear of the wall of mountain behind her, the wind pushed and pulled, forcing her to fight to stay steady. Her knees quickly shaky with weakness, threatening to give out completely. Still she forced her body to take the next step, and then the next, until the gap in the earth filled her vision, split in two by the small line of the bridge, which seemed no more than a hair's width in comparison. Her stomach lurched, roiling and churning, flooding her muscles with a sickly infusion of chemicals. Her magic flared up in a confusion of ice and sparks, awakened by the primal instinct to fight or flee.

When the valley was so close she could barely see the ground beneath her feet, her knees finally gave. Avery crumpled to the ground, her hands falling upon the cold rocky earth, searching desperately for something upon which to cling. There was nothing below but a flat, unfeeling ground. The pulse crashing through her ears merged with the swelling roar of the relentless wind, rendering her mouth dry, her hands uncontrollably shaking. She tried to focus on the path alone, but any glance ahead registered only a terrifying abyss, a void of substance that seemed to be pulling her toward it. She squeezed her eyes closed and took a deep, ragged breath. People crossed this bridge nearly every day, and as of yet none of them had died. No one had fallen over the side, or been pushed, pulled or prodded by the wind.

She could do this, she _had_ to do this. The only other options were to turn back or set up camp here and wait until someone came along to offer assistance.

That last idea might work, but what if it took days before someone came? Meanwhile she'd be stuck staring at the walls of Skyhold knowing Cullen was only just inside? Could she allow her fear to trap her a mere bridge-length away from her home, from the place that had been calling her heart every minute since the day she'd left?

Without looking, she forced herself back to a stand. But even with her eyes closed the space before her was palpable, singing a deathly song that soared through the air and rattled every nerve. She took a step, and opened her eyes, but her body refused to move further. She waited, tried to calm herself enough to try again. Her muscles weren't responding, her feet staying stubbornly in place. Locked into position, frozen as surely as if she were encased in ice herself, she eventually relented, letting the ground come up to meet her again, grateful for its unchanged stability.

No, she couldn't do this. It wasn't possible. Her body shook with raging anxiety and refused to obey her orders. Others might not have died crossing the bridge, but they hadn't been dizzy and terrified and hardly able to open their eyes. The wind howled, pushing against her crouching body and threatening to roll her across the ground. No, this was dangerous. Did everyone cross in such conditions? Surely they were smart enough to wait until the wind died down, at the very least. If such a gust were to hit her halfway across, there would still be nothing to hold onto, nothing to grab and steady herself with, other than the mage staff that would be knocked over the edge with her. Her body would never be found and Cullen would be left to wonder forever. Perhaps he might think she'd abandoned him, that she hadn't tried to come home. Between the fucking birds not delivering letters and how quickly her corpse would be either covered in snow or eaten by some wayward predator, she'd literally be as good as having disappeared into the void itself.

She sat within the swirling vortex of wind and waited. She had no idea what for. Waited for the strength to come, waited an answer to appear, for the Maker to pluck her off the mountain and deposit her safely at Skyhold's door. No option seemed more or less unlikely than the next. If she'd had her horse she could simply close her eyes and distract herself with a song, letting the reliable beast's weight add to her own and anchor her down against the wind. The horse would be doing the hard work, same as he'd done through so much of her travels. But she hadn't seen any other option. Crossing blindly in the wind herself was a sure recipe for the very death she feared.

Perhaps if she waited long enough the wind might die down. If everything were to miraculously fall still again, she might muster of the courage to try again, even if it meant she crawled the entire way on her hands and knees. She didn't know what other choice she had.

 

 

She didn't hear the hoofbeats of the approaching horses over the the wind. Didn't hear the creaking of the opening bridge door. Her eyes squeezed shut, her mind racing with dreadful possibilities, succeeded all too well in blocking out the gap in the earth before her, and with it all of the rest of the world.

She did hear the grind and thump of the boots hitting the ground just feet away, the hasty steps taken over rocky pathway. It jolted her to attention, a spark of hope alighting somewhere inside the darkness. And then she heard her name.

The body towering over her was a shadow, the milky white sky above blinding out the details of her savior's face. But he fell on his knees and said her name again.

Avery laughed as Cullen gathered her up, his movements hurried and desperate.

"What's wrong?" he asked as his hands flitted over her body, assessing her condition. "Why are you…?"

He paused as he registered her laughter, but even she wasn't sure it was full laughter. It wasn't until a breath choked into a sob and the feeling in her chest overflowed into a confused pain that she realized she was crying too.

"Avery," he asked again. He pulled at her leathers, searching for an injury with his fingers and eyes. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she gasped out eventually, feeling ridiculous and weak and so grateful that someone had come she was almost certain she had to be hallucinating. But if this hallucination might accompany her, she may be able to make it across. She struggled to piece together all the parts for an explanation, but realized it really was quite simple.

"I'm just trying to cross this fucking, Maker-forsaken bridge!" A laugh came again, delirious and confused.

She reached back for him finally, seeking the physical reality of the vision before her. She'd felt his touch on her body, quick and searching, but when her own hand found him, his chest real and firm against her palm, it became real. He was truly there. He was only inches away, his breath casting plumes of steam into the narrow gap between them. His broad chest blocked out the ominous bridge and canyon behind him and she felt the anxiety begin to drain away. None of it mattered now. The wrinkle appeared between his furrowed brow, his unbearably perfect face darkening with concern. She cupped his cheek, running the pad of her thumb over the angle of his cheekbone, the constant spread of stubble that roughened his skin, and quickly pulled him in for an urgent, long overdue kiss.

His lips, warm and soft, meeting with hers in their familiar, impassioned dance, warmed her body from within. She wrapped herself around him, pulling him down to join her on the ground, yanking on the heft of his shoulders until they surrounded each other, her rib cage squeezed into his tight embrace. The leathers, the cloak, his own uniform were unwelcome barriers, standing between their searching hands and the curves of each others bodies. But it was too cold, too wintry to remove any layers and merge their body heat, so she resigned to simply holding him close. Their teeth banged together in their desperation to kiss deeper, his sighs and small whimpers birthing butterflies in her belly that quickly began traveling lower. She was home, Cullen was in her arms, her journey was over.

Time slipped away from them, though neither cared to keep track. When he pulled away and cupped her cheek his gaze was one of disbelief. His eyes swept over her face, her lips, her hair, his fingers brushing into her unevenly trimmed locks.

"How long have you been here?" he asked.

Avery shook her head, feeling deeply silly. "I don't know. An hour? Maybe two?"

Finally, his concern broke and a smile cracked through, brightening his amber eyes and igniting an immediate need to kiss him more. Surging forward again, she grasped his face, claiming his lips for another deep kiss. She'd spent so much of her time away reflecting back on all the moments they'd shared, so many nights and days visiting him in her mind, it hardly seemed real that he could truly be before her now. His skin blazing beneath her hands, his breath coming in small puffs of warmth around their faces. She melted into the experience of him, into the solid form of his body pressed tightly against hers, precisely where it belonged. But her mind was still racing,, sorting through the collecting questions on the tip of her tongue.

"Wait, you didn't see me here? Is that not why you came?"

She looked over his shoulder toward Skyhold. The towering structure rose like a ghost out of the mist, its outer windows nothing more than muted flecks over pale stone. Unless someone was keeping watch with a looking glass, and had a sharp eye for a solitary, unmoving wanderer, she realized it would be nearly impossible to detect her there. She certainly hadn't been expecting anyone to.

He laughed again. "Well I was coming to find you. I had no idea you'd be so close."

She nuzzled into his neck, taking a deep breath of his delicious skin. The scent of him she'd so longed for filled her heart until it was close to bursting. But with each second she sat in his arms, the more questions came.

"What the fuck is wrong with the birds!? If I could have sent my letters to you, you'd know that I was here. I've been writing you this whole time!"

His laugh faded.

"Well, I haven't gotten through them all, but I got them. Most of them anyway. Some of the birds didn't take well to the spell. And the letters — so much lost correspondence, much of it has only just been located," he said. For the first time Avery noticed the horses, waiting patiently under the roof of the first outpost. Two of them, one loaded heavily with gear. Much more gear than she had brought with her when she departed. Much more than anyone should need for a temporary trip. More questions to be asked.

"Spell?" she asked. "Not a sickness?"

"Well… both, almost. Those wardens? The ones that returned to Skyhold with us? There was a mage with them, one who managed to stay undetected, even well after our arrival back here," Cullen explained. "She'd hidden her corruption, staying quiet and casting spells over the other Wardens to keep her secret. And she cast something on the birds as well. All our letters started disappearing. It turned out she was having the birds fly to a cadre of Red Templars that were working in Corypheus' service. It was Cole and Solas who sensed the evil in her, who called her out until she revealed what she was. Solas uncovered the spell, but not before we tracked the birds to where they were being routed. So…" he sighed, gesturing back toward his horse. "I got your letters. Only in the last few days. I also got all of mine returned to me. There were so many…"

"I see…" she sighed, staring into space, processing the information.

"Combined with the letters I already gave you, we now have a rather lengthy novel's worth," he laughed again, his eyes turning warm. "We'll have quite the paper legacy to leave our children, or grandchildren…."

Avery smiled at the thought. There would be gaps in the timeline, but it would remain what it was: a detailed, heartfelt record, not only of their personal struggles, but of an important time in history. Tumultuous and passionate, frought with pain and longing, but if anyone ever needed reassurance of the existence of true love, they would find it in those letters.

"Might need a little censoring in some places…" Avery smirked.

"Of course. But when they're adults…" he added. "Or we're long gone…" Cullen squeezed her tight again.

"Right," she sighed. "Well that doesn't seem to be a very smart thing to do, does it? Enchanting the birds and stealing all your letters? It's not like that sort of thing would go unnoticed for long."

"No, but I guess we were already so close to the end that it was just a last, desperate measure. And it did cause quite a few problems," he said. More questions.

"Close to the end?" she asked, eyebrow raised. Cullen's smile spread, his eyes widening as something dawned over his face.

"Yes. The end. Love, it's over!" he whispered. "It's done. And we won."

The words sounded foreign at first. Surely they couldn't mean what she thought they meant. She searched her mind for something else he could be referring to. What else might have been finished? His hand back came up to her cheek, pulling her attention firmly toward him.

"It's done, Avery. We're free," he said again. She blinked numbly. It didn't seem possible that he truly meant what those words were saying.

"Free?" she managed to choke out.

"Anon defeated Corypheus four days ago. I turned in my resignation and negotiated for your release from the Inquisition," he said.

Avery was stunned into silence. She'd been envisioning more missions, more travel, more fighting. It couldn't really be this simple.

"But, how?"

"By convincing my the soldiers not to follow me, to stay on with the Inquisition and help in whatever capacity might be needed. A few have tendered their own resignation anyway, such as Rylen, which we all expected. But once the others found out I was retiring and there was no where else for them to follow me to, it wasn't terribly difficult. I told them I would not be pleased to have an army loitering around while we're busy trying to get on with the rest of our life."

Avery felt a rush of elation, filling her limbs and making her head grow light. It was the same sort of lightheadedness she'd felt at the prospect of crossing the bridge, only this new unknown wasn't one she was afraid to fall into. She laughed deliriously, squeezing him closer, trying to process everything she'd just learned. It felt like a dream, like she should wake any moment and still be just trying to cross the damned bridge back to Skyhold.

But… the horses full of gear. Were they even going back to Skyhold?

"So what now?" she asked, unable to keep the giddy smile off her aching cheeks.

"Now… we find a home," he said quietly. "One for just the two of us. But…"

Avery watched his face, something dark flitting behind his eyes. "What?"

"We need to get there soon. I've not brought much lyrium. I already took less in my last dose this morning. So the effects… will limit us. I know the timing isn't the best. Maker, my timing is never the best… but I can't put this off. I was sure you'd understand, and only preyed I'd find you quickly. You do understand, right love?."

Avery pulled him close, resting her forehead onto his. She remembered that deep feeling of serenity that had soothed her through her first day on foot. It was the same one that would help him through his withdrawals. And what the potion couldn't do, Avery would try to help manage however she could. She had the notes. She'd read his letters. She had spirit healing. She felt ready.

"Of course, Cullen. I'm glad you didn't wait. How much time do we have?" she asked calmly, while rubbing reassuringly at his shoulders.

"Three weeks maybe? There'll likely be a few things happening rather soon, but three, maybe four weeks before it starts to get really bad," he said. "It'll be tough, but I… I sort of have a place in mind. Near my parent's land. I don't know what remains of it since the blight. And if you don't like it we don't have to stay."

Avery laughed. She had no doubt that she'd love anywhere that he wanted to live, especially if it was land he knew, land he'd grown up exploring with his siblings. Finally she scooted away from him and reached toward her pouch. Even if he'd gotten her letters, he wouldn't know about the potion. She'd never bothered trying to send those she'd written after, since she wasn't sure if they'd reach him. She pulled the last remaining vial up and held it between them. The orange swirled and and breathed; a vivid burst of color against a whitewashed world.

"What is that?" Cullen asked, taking the vial for closer inspection.

"It's Dragon's Breath."

Cullen was quiet, turning the vial over in his hands.

"The potion you wrote that you and Cassandra searched for in Denerim," she added.

"But, that potion isn't real. It's a myth," he whispered.

"It's not. It's there, in your hands. It's the only one I have, but I can make more," she said watching his pupils dilate as he stared at the vial. "Whenever we find a place to stay for a while, and I get the equipment."

He handed it back to her, his face pale and smooth as stone.

"How, Avery?" he asked, finally meeting her eyes. There was confusion in his face, warring emotions behind his eyes. She could sense relief, but also uncertainty.

"Weisshaupt," she said. "You should have seen the library there. Books and journals going back four, maybe five ages. Possibly further. It took a whole day and night of searching, reading through countls history books and journals, but we found it. And Anders showed me how to make it." His eyes grew sharp at the mention of Anders' name, but grew soft again quickly. Avery replaced the vial in her pouch and pressed back against his chest. She combed through his hair with her fingertips, caressing down his face as he stared numbly, lost in thought.

"You did say something about his being a Warden once, didn't you," he said quietly.

Avery nodded. Cullen remained quiet and still, holding her close but saying little. Snow began to fall again, whipping against their faces as the wind blew without mercy.

"Only three weeks, then," she said, climbing off his lap and pulling him to a stand. She was sure she saw the small creep of a curl at his lips, his eyes dark as they processed the news. So much news, so many changes. "We'd better get moving."

He left her to return to the outpost for the horses, and she backed away from the gaping gorge before them, feeling all the anxiety she'd felt at the prospect of crossing now replaced by something new and ecstatic. Her eyes stayed glued to Cullen. He seemed to have left behind his pauldron and dressed practically for the mountains. A long, black cloak whipped around him with the wind, giving a peek at the leathers beneath. Every second still felt surreal. Cullen's form as it gathered up the reins and turned to move toward her again could have been a figment of her imagination, another ghost conjured up by a desperate mind. But his eyes burned into hers as he approached, the brown blazing with affection and certainty. She recounted all the things he'd said, but it would take time for it all to truly sink in. They were free. No responsibilities, no burdens, nothing to hold them down from making a life together. No more travel, no more battle. Behind him Skyhold loomed, imposing and formidable, but filled with friends. She could ask him to take her across the bridge one last time, so she could say goodbye to Varric, Cole, Solas and Cassandra. Thank Anon for releasing her and establish peace between them before making her final departure.

But surely they wouldn't all be staying there forever either, and she knew that even a few sick or ensorcelled birds wouldn't stop Varric from writing her. It wouldn't be the last time she'd see any of them, somehow she was sure of that.

But Cullen was the future, and their life together wasn't at Skyhold anymore. It was somewhere behind them, somewhere back the same path she'd spent weeks walking. And Cullen's clock was ticking. Three, four weeks before things started to get bad, before she needed to have more potion. It had taken nearly three weeks just to make it through the Frostbacks herself, though that had been mostly on foot.

No, they would need to leave right away, to give themselves as a big a cushion as possible to find a comfortable place for Cullen to detox. With a last glance, Avery said a quiet good bye to Skyhold, and a giant fuck you to the bridge.

The horses stopped before her and she laughed at the realization that they'd have to ride together, the same as they had those long, beautiful days on the way to the Winter Palace. The one horse was already overloaded with gear, leaving plenty of room for the two of them on the free one. Cullen secured her pack onto the second horse, before whispering a few reassuring words into the horse's ear, rubbing his nose and scratching down his neck. She watched her beautiful husband, feeling delirious with joy. He turned back toward her and she had only a second to prepare before he grabbed her up for another searing kiss. It was slower this time, more deliberate and tender. The flash she'd got of his face before he was upon her was enough to convey a world of meaning. He more than missed her, he _needed_ her. Nothing had changed, no matter how much time and space had separated them.

When they pulled apart for air he refused to stop, pressing hard kisses onto her temple and into her hair, blanketing her with affection. She laughed and held him tight against her, vowing silently never to let him go again.


	40. Chapter 40: One Year Later

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it, the end of their journey. There will be at least two one-shots with these two, coming sometime in the future and just added to the series. I don't know exactly when however, as my carpal tunnel has started to flare up thanks to swelling from my pregnancy. But thank you so much to everyone who stuck through this with me. I genuinely cherish each and every kudo and comment that you've all been kind enough to leave. Your kindness and encouragement has meant the world to me. 
> 
> Thank you thank you!!

_One Year Later_

 

Avery flopped over onto her side and snuggled down into her pillow. Just outside, flocks of noisy birds were congregating within the newly budded trees, filling the air with an almost aggressive jubilance at the dawning of another day. Spring had finally, officially descended upon their little valley, bringing with it warm floral breezes that fluttered the curtains around their open windows. Avery closed her eyes and smiled, at the sounds of awakening wilderness outside their bedroom walls, but also the more intimate sounds coming from only feet away. Cullen's voice rose softly, carrying toward her in a low, soothing melody. It was the same song he sang every morning as they carried through their new routine. He'd turned out to be extraordinarily skilled at so many things since they'd established their little lakeside homestead nearly a year ago, but his unexpected gift of song was one of such sweetness that she found herself wondering how she'd ever lived without it. She'd never heard him sing back in Skyhold, and certainly wouldn't have back in Kirkwall. He'd said he hadn't really had occasion or desire to, and now he seemed to sing at every opportunity, in part because he knew she loved to hear him, but also simply for the joy of it.

But the song was interrupted with laughter, another part of their new routine.

"Ah, little man…" he sighed happily. "It never fails. You'd think I would have learned to cover up those little parts by now."

Avery opened her eyes and glanced toward him, watching his broad back ripple with a newly earned strength as he pulled his light linen shirt over his head and began to wipe down his stomach.

"Peed on again?" Avery giggled. It never failed to surprise him, and it never failed to amuse her.

Cullen tossed the tunic into the basket in the corner of the room, and picked up the tiny pink body before him. Nice and dry in a fresh diaper, their son nuzzled and cooed into the warmth of Cullen's bare chest.

"Every time," he confirmed with a grin. "I think he enjoys doing it. Or maybe he doesn't like my singing."

"Nonsense!" Avery declared. "He probably just likes to hear you laugh, same as his mommy."

Cullen lowered himself gently back into his side of the bed. Despite the fact that Malcolm was nearly four weeks old now, Cullen still handled him as though he was as delicate as glass. Avery slid into the little nook of Cullen's arm, resting her cheek on the fuzzy warmth of his pectoral, just a few inches away from her son's face. The baby's big blue eyes blinked calmly at her, his impossibly long lashes whispering against his deliciously round cheeks. Avery laid a hand on the warm skin of Malcolm's back, fuzzy and soft as anything she'd ever felt.

These were by far her favorite moments of the morning. Malcolm was dry and comfortable, his belly full of mommy's milk. Soon Cullen would be up to put the kettle on and go check the crab trap, and then off to the guest house to take the morning dose of Dragon's Breath to Rylen and the other boarder, a recently arrived former Templar named Kelsa. Avery would dress Malcolm and herself, then begin her own busy day of tending to the fussy occupants of her increasingly cramped greenhouse, followed by as much time spent prepping more herbs and potions as Malcolm would allow. But until then, they'd get a few sleepy moments of peaceful snuggling together in bed. Avery sighed happily, joining her son in listening to the steady pulse of Cullen's heartbeat. Judging by the breeze caressing her back, it would be another beautiful spring day in their valley by the lake.

"Lake Rutherford!" Cullen had declared it, after grabbing her mage staff and victoriously planting it into the ground like a flag. He'd looked so boyishly giddy as he surveyed the rolling hills that surrounded the water, she'd have let him name it anything he liked.

They'd been roaming the lands outside of Cullen's parent's estate, sticking to close to the edge of the water that he'd explored as a child. He'd spoken wistfully of adventures with Branson and Mia, long days of climbing trees, chasing chickens and swordfighting with sticks and logs. It sounded like an idyllic childhood, and not terribly far off from her own. But the land Cullen remembered was not the same. The blight had taken quite a toll on Honnleath, and she'd been glad to leave after their first visit.

"They've had to completely rebuild the market," Cullen pointed out as they walked through it together. The market was bustling, with many parts of town looking as though nothing had ever befallen it. But Cullen saw differences everywhere he looked. "There was a house over there that had a family my parents used to visit with sometimes. The Ferrells. Their son Micah was four years my senior and wouldn't give me the time of day. I was so jealous when he left town to join the Templars." He squeeze her hand, holding on so tightly their palms had begun to sweat.

"And the golem statue's gone. Strange, you'd think there'd be rocks or something left. It looks like someone just picked it up and ran off with it. I suppose the townfolk just cleaned it up."

They walked to the site of his childhood home, and found only a row of unfamiliar houses, none of them his.

After an hour spent exploring and refilling supplies at the market, they rode out to to the waterfront. He tied up the horses and lead Avery to the end of an old wooden dock. To her surprise his melancholy lifted almost immediately. He kicked off his boots and sat at the edge, dangling his feet into the water. The lyrium withdrawal had begun, but you couldn't tell by the expression on his face. He'd held her hand like he was afraid she would disappear if he let go.

"I always wanted to do this at the ledge in Kirkwall, but Maker knows what was in that blighted water," he laughed. His eyes grew distant, his lip curling in his half smile as he peered down into the clear lake below him. "Sometimes when I'd come here as a child I'd drop bread crumbs down for the fish, and they'd go into a feeding frenzy and nibble my toes by mistake."

Avery sat quietly beside him and listened to his stories. He'd remarked once that during his withdrawals his mind would go cloudy, but the oldest memories of his childhood somehow stayed the clearest. She indulged him for nearly two hours, letting his mind wander back to pockets of his youth that he'd filed away. It seemed to help him grieve a little for how drastically his hometown had changed, how his childhood home had burned to the ground after getting hit with wayward a flaming arrow from the townfolk who'd stayed behind to fight the invading darkspawn. He asked that someday she take him to Lothering, and show him the places she remembered as a child, and see if it had fared any better than Honnleath had. It was amazing to think that they'd grown up only a few day's journey from each other, yet only came together in a dirty city hundreds of miles across the sea.

She'd hated to eventually pull him away from the dock, but the sun was setting, and they needed to set up camp before all the light was gone.

The next day the horses carried them along the waterfront, reaching a distant arm of the lake that split off into a river. After another hour or so, that river narrowed into little more than a shallow creek. They'd passed a few hidden little ponds, and cantered steadily through rocky forests of birch and ash, but as the day progressed they saw little that would serve well enough for a place to land, nor be made functional as quickly as they would need it. Their eyes scanned the land for pathways or buildings, looking for signs of life but not _too_ much life. Privacy and space was as important as anything else. But the landscape was lovely, and Avery felt more at peace just for being within it.

Cullen had mentioned a quaint little village his father often journeyed to in his youth, half the size of Honnleath and populated mostly by farmers. He recalled that it couldn't have been more than a day to the southeast of his home. He'd beg his father to be allowed to come along whenever he went, so he could buy himself and his siblings sweetrolls from the village baker. The rolls were filled with cinnamon and raisins, iced with a buttery frosting that melted into all the nooks when they were warmed. Honnleath's market had nothing that could compare.

The day had stretched on, and despite the headache that Cullen had developed, and the rapidly approaching sunset, he'd urged her to let them keep going just a little bit further. He swore that the village he remembered should be getting closer. If they found nothing that felt right before they reached it they would stop, and then speak to the villagers the next morning about any nearby houses or land for sale.

But then they'd rounded a heavily treed ledge, and found themselves before a modest lake tucked into a vista of rolling hills. An empty cabin sat near the gently lapping water, with an overgrown path leading to a dock.

Avery knew immediately, and confirmed with a glance that Cullen knew it too. It felt like home the moment she'd climbed off the horse. A little valley they would make their own, somewhere in the west hills that ran south of Lake Calenhad, with Honnleath one day to the West, and Lothering a day and a half to the East. That little village turned out to be only a half hour to the south, beyond two low bridges and a meadow of wildflowers. By late the next afternoon Avery had secured the deed to their new land, and commissioned two villagers in need of work to begin repairs on the cabin.

Four months later Rylen arrived. With the help of those same men from the village he began construction on the guest house, while a newly lyrium-free Cullen rushed to put the finishing touches on her greenhouse before the autumn temperatures began to plummet.

Three weeks after that, Avery found herself having to stop unexpectedly in the middle of the yard to vomit as she was transferring the arbor blessing into its new winter home.

Avery caressed her finger along the infant's balled up hand, still in awe of the tiny, delicate perfection of his fingernails. The little hand grasped her finger instinctively before he kicked his legs and squirmed, clumsily lifting his head to try to look up into his daddy's face. He was holding it up for several seconds in a row now, long enough to take a full survey of the room before dropping his milky white cheek back against whatever body was holding him. Malcolm released her hand and brought his fist to his mouth to begin gumming at his knuckles, but it was interrupted momentarily by a yawn. The little blonde hairs at the back of his head were beginning to show the distinct signs of a curl.

Cullen groaned in contentment as he squeezed Avery closer against his body. The precious seconds spent in the quiet company of her family made her heart feel on the verge of bursting.

"Would you prefer eggs or rolls for breakfast, my love?" he asked eventually. "There are still four rolls left from last weekend's batch, though if I warm them they may be able to pass as somewhat fresh."

He'd been trying his best to recreate the sweetrolls from his childhood, going so far as to question a few of the townsfolk about that beloved baker that used to occupy the storefront near the massive old oak tree. Everyone remembered the rolls, but no one had any secrets to share about the way they were made. It'd been months since he'd begun his near constant quest with the yeast dough, experimenting with different mixes of spices and frostings. Every new batch was better than the last, but Cullen always frowned at the first taste, declaring them _still not quite right_.

"Both," Avery answered quickly. As much as she'd hate to leave her warm little nest, the lure of a hot meal and a cup of coffee was irresistible. She'd been ravenous throughout most of her pregnancy, but even that hardly compared to the near-constant hunger of nursing.

Cullen laughed softly. "Of course. And extra helpings of both, if you'd like."

"Yes," she confirmed without hesitation. "I'm still eating for two, after all."

With a sigh, she scooted up higher in the bed, bringing herself nose to nose with Cullen's smiling face. His hair had grown a little wild and untamed during the winter, but now that it was warming up and he was spending more time outside she knew it was just a matter of time before he asked her to cut his curls short again. As it usually did first thing in the morning, his hair splayed around his head like halo, sometimes sweeping off into random directions depending on the position that he had slept. She'd quietly noticed to herself that even if she hadn't been there beside him all night, she'd still be able to tell how good a night's sleep he had gotten by how flattened out his hair was the next morning. There was less sleep now than there had been for a few precious months during the winter, but that was more due to Malcolm than it was to nightmares. Which was a twofold relief, as Malcolm had refused to sleep anywhere but within arm's reach of Avery, which would also put him in earshot of his father. They'd had to rearrange the furniture in the room so that they could fit the bassinet between her side of the bed and the wall. Everyone seemed to sleep better if no one had to get out of bed to respond to the baby's nighttime cries.

Avery nuzzled into Cullen's hair and neck, taking a deep breath of his sleepy musk. He kissed her temple, and then her cheek, working his way toward her mouth for a long, deep good morning kiss. It was still a habit to worry about her morning breath, but Cullen had already made it clear that he greatly disapproved of her withholding kisses for any reason. Attempting to convince him that he might want to wait until after she'd cleaned her teeth never seemed to work, and she'd given up the fight, even though the self consciousness remained.

Malcolm stirred as their bodies began to move and adjust. Cullen's hand covered hers as they both patted his pink little back at the same time.

"If you'll help me get the lad situated in the sling, he can come help me get started. It's never too late to learn how to warm up a sweetroll, is it little man?"

"You're not going to check the crab trap this morning?"

"Nope. Rylen's got it. He's going to take Cassandra out on the canoe," Cullen answered. "They're probably already out there, in fact. He wanted to push off early so he could show her the family of Kingfishers that nest over by the dam."

"Oh good," Avery answered with a nod. She'd missed the early morning paddles around the lake. The water came alive as the sun rose, with ducks congregating in massive flocks to dabble for bugs, the Kingfisher family diving for fish off the leaning cypress tree, the beavers leaving rippling wakes as they paddled back and forth from their dams. It had become their routine for a while, until the water iced over and Avery's belly grew uncomfortably large. And even now, taking Malcolm out on the canoe didn't sit well with her. Once he was old enough to learn to swim though, she wanted to be out there as often as possible, despite the fact that Cullen constantly teased that by then there'd probably be another baby on the way.

"Did Cassandra settle in okay last night? I know that house is small, and she might have felt a little cramped. We really need to add onto it again if you're thinking of bringing in more Templars."

"She was fine, love," Cullen reassured her with a squeeze. "Cass is no stranger to spartan conditions. In fact she tried to insist that she take the cot in the sitting room rather than let Rylen give up his room for her. He absolutely wouldn't have it of course. It nearly came to blows."

Avery snorted. "But she's got to be used to such luxury by now. I can only imagine what kind of quarters they have for the Divine in Val Royeaux. She's probably surrounded by gold fountains, freshly cut flowers, servants fanning her with palm fronds and hand feeding her berries…"

Cullen's laugh cut her off, ringing through the room loudly enough to startle Malcolm, who raised his head up again to stare at the source of the noise.

"Oh sorry little man," he cooed quietly to the baby. He lifted the child to his face and pressed a kiss to his cheek, settling him higher up on his chest. Malcolm grabbed onto a little patch of chest hair and Cullen's laugh morphed into a soft hiss. Avery couldn't help the smile that spread across her face, both at Cullen's contagious laughter and the gentleness he never failed to show his son. It made him so radiantly beautiful that at times she could scarcely hold back tears.

But Avery's sensitivities had been kicked into overdrive since she'd become a mother, and she knew she was also exaggerating when it came to Cass's new role as Divine. She'd seen the extravagance of Val Royueax several times now, and a horde of doting servants bearing fruit and other luxuries wasn't entirely out of the question, but that just didn't fit with the woman she knew.

"First of all, you've been reading too many of Varric's books. And secondly, you know Cassandra wouldn't tolerate that," Cullen teased, speaking her thoughts. "She'd beat the servants with their own fronds until they were forced to find something useful to do."

"Right," Avery conceded with a sigh. In reality, Cassandra had probably walked straight into the house of the Divine and began immediately jettisoning anything that wasn't practical or didn't directly aid her in her new duties. Avery giggled at the image of gilded vases and statues flying out the window of her Val Royeaux quarters and clattering to the ground at the feet of confused onlookers.

"So she wasn't disappointed that I wasn't out there to say goodnight?" Avery asked. It was Cassandra's first night there but Malcolm had been fussy, and had only been soothed by a long period of quiet time at his mother's breast.

"Of course not, love. She understands that you have new priorities now. She's already insisted that no one here treat her any differently than we had back at Skyhold, and that under no circumstances are you to go out of your way for her. Rylen is going to give her a full run down on the normal daily duties, what it is that we've been doing for Kelsa, and if you'd like to take her through the greenhouse she's offered to take a bit of the gardening off your hands as well. It would be nice for you to concentrate on resting for a little while longer, don't you think?"

"But the Dragon's Breath isn't going to make itself, Cullen…"

A warm hand slipped against her cheek, tilting her face up gently until she was looking square into Cullen's loving gaze.

"Don't worry so much about it my love. Actually… it turns out Rylen is done," he said warmly. "He handed yesterday's dose right back to me, and told me he was feeling good enough on his own now. We can keep what we have for Kelsa, and you've already built up a stash that should get her through the next month, at least. As long as Cassandra isn't called away for some civil emergency, she intends to stay for at least the next few weeks. And even after she goes back to Val Voyeaux, Rylen will still be here, and _he_ plans on staying until Kelsa is done."

Avery nodded and felt a little bit of weight lift form her shoulders.

"And by then Fenris and Matti should be here for their visit," she added. Fenris would be bringing along a few items from her mother's room, as well as a trunk of coin from the vault. She and Cullen had stretched what money they brought along well enough over the last year, but still so much of her wealth was just collecting dust back in Kirkwall. She knew Fenris wouldn't mind being put to work, plus Varric and Aveline had expressed a desire to visit as well, though she was trying to space things out due to limited beds. Everyone was anxious to meet "Hawke Jr," as Varric had taken to calling him in his letters.

"And then Mia… she says it'll be another couple months before they can make it this far north," Cullen sighed. "Which is a bit of a relief. The last thing any of us needs is to be henpecked to death while we've so much else to attend to."

Avery shook her head, nudging Cullen in the ribs. "I'm sure she's not that bad."

Cullen laughed again, catching himself this time before he startled Mal again.

"No… she's not," he admitted. "She's pretty great, actually. Still, I don't want you playing hostess all the time when you should be taking it easy. You already do far more than you should so soon after having a baby."

The last few weeks since Malcolm had arrived hadn't exactly been horrible, but they weren't always easy either. She'd spent the first few days in bed, sharing a love drunk stupor with Cullen as they bonded with their perfect new addition. But after a few days she was up and about again, with the knowledge weighing on her that there were still things that needed to be done. And it wasn't easy to tend to the greenhouse and spend time prepping her herbs without numerous Malcolm-related interruptions. He needed to feed regularly, sometimes _constantly_ , which meant he also needed to be changed regularly. And Avery herself needed to eat, since her body was giving so many of its nutrients to her milk. Often she just felt _tired._ Happy too. Ecstatically, blissfully happy, and fulfilled in a way she never thought possible. But definitely tired. She could still do many of the things she'd been doing before he was born, thanks to the sling that the village midwife had gifted her and taught her to use, which kept Malcolm snug and secure against her chest while her arms were free to work, but still it seemed to take about three times as long to complete a task than it used to.

"And regarding bringing in more Templars…" Cullen began cautiously.

"Yes?"

The letters came nearly every day, requests from another soon-to-be ex-Templar who'd heard of what they were doing there, of the success Cullen had quitting lyrium for a second time, and now apparently Rylen too. The Templar Order would be preserved under Cassandra's new role as Divine, but their duties would change, and the Order as a whole had been temporarily downsized while the Chantry was reorganized. It appeared that many jaded Templars had taken the massive upheaval as an opportunity to leave the Order altogether, though they had all discovered the same thing that Cullen had: there was only so far you could run with a lyrium collar around your neck. Avery knew that there was no way Cullen could turn away others who wanted to break their chains the same way he had. It wouldn't be possible for her either, knowing that only she could provide a crucial salve for their pain, at least until more became knowledgeable of the process of making the potion.

"Rylen and I were trying to figure out a system that would make transitioning new Templars in as smooth as possible. We were thinking that we'd stagger our boarders, the way it turned out with Rylen and Kelsa. Kelsa arrived just as Rylen was reaching the end, which has turned out to be quite a good thing," he said. "She can see for herself the progress he's made, giving her confidence in the fact that quitting _is_ possible. That alone might help to keep her going through the difficulties that the potion doesn't eliminate. And Rylen has the experience fresh in his mind, so he can aid her with a greater degree of compassion and understanding than anyone else might. The arrangement wasn't intentional, but it's reaped so many benefits. So, I was thinking that part of the payment for room, board and treatment can be a commitment to stay and help the next Templar through the process, while also agreeing to a certain degree of work around the homestead. We can keep it capped at two boarders for the foreseeable future, so that nothing gets too overwhelming now that we have an infant around. And we'll just start a waiting list until we're comfortable with expanding a little more." He stopped and cleared his throat, looking almost nervous as he awaited her reply.

Having two mostly incapacitated Templars in need of daily potion and on their property at the same that she was nursing a small child might have been a stretch. But if one was always able to help out, to take on some of the burden of caring for the other and possibly also a few a chores, then that would make everything much easier indeed. She'd been a little nervous about how everything was going to go, with so many visitors so soon after Malcolm was born, on top of housing detoxing Templars in the guesthouse and trying to juggle the needs of the baby with the needs of the homestead, but it did seem that Cullen was doing his best to make things fall into place with as little disruption to her and the baby as possible.

Avery cupped Cullen's cheek, claiming his lips in a deep kiss. The depth of her gratitude to this hardworking man was endless, larger than she could even begin to articulate. She trailed light kisses down his jaw and over his chest, still firm and sculpted from hours of chopping wood, pulling saws and hammering nails. Avery nuzzled in tightly against Cullen, lowering her face to breathe in a deep drink of Malcolm's little head before looking back into her husband's clear brown eyes. His complexion practically glowed with a new vitality, and the sun was already bringing out the light dusting of freckles over his nose. And his lips…. _Maker._ She kissed him again, suckling on his lower lip until he released a quiet moan. Those lips never failed to make her feel weak in the knees, even when she was lying in bed.

"That sounds perfect," she answered finally.

Cullen beamed a warm smile, and laid a light kiss on the tip of her nose. " _You're_ perfect."

Xxxxxxxxx

Cullen was singing again as he placed the plates of food on the table in the kitchen. He'd removed Malcolm from the sling and set him in the little rocking crib beside the table, stopping to nudge it back into motion each time he made a pass across the kitchen. The rocker had been a gift from Andre and Markus, the two men who'd spent so many months here helping them to repair the cabin and build the second dock. They'd been so grateful for the paid work that the moment the news broke that she and Cullen were expecting a child, they'd constructed the rocker by hand and presented it almost seven months before she was even due. The curve of the base was slight enough that it only rocked very gently, never putting the baby in danger of capsizing so matter how vigorously he squirmed while laying within. It moved around the house as it was needed, and had proved to be a brilliant gift, even though Malcolm naturally always preferred to be in arms.

"So how is Rylen holding it together with Cassandra here?" Avery asked as she took her place at the table. His crush on the Seeker was unmistakable to anyone paying attention. The man turned beet red anytime anyone so much as mentioned her name.

Cullen flashed her an excited grin.

"Well enough that they were up talking until midnight last night." He sat beside her at the table and wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her chair against his. She threaded her leg around his calf and settled into to take down a gulp of her steaming coffee.

"And still they got up to take the canoe out this morning?"

Cullen nodded.

"This is so perfect," he said. "I don't know if they've ever been able to just talk and spend time together without some looming battle or disaster to distract them." He mashed the yolk of his egg, cutting up the whites into small pieces and stirring them around until the whites were evenly coated in orange. She'd never seen anyone eat their eggs like that, but he claimed it was the best way not to lose any of the yolk in the absence of toast. She couldn't argue with his logic, and had started copying his method.

"He's taking her into the village today to pick up some supplies, and I was going to have them pick up a few things…" he paused to take a bite. Avery let out an involuntary groan at the warm sweetroll that was melting in her mouth.

"…so that I could make us all a nice dinner tonight. Invite them both over and then maybe you and I can make up some reason that we absolutely have to sneak away for a little while…"

Avery snorted a laugh and squeezed Cullen's arm.

"When did my husband become such a matchmaker?" she teased.

"Well. My dear, ever since Rylen has been secretly in love with Cassandra for over two years now, and I happen to know _exactly_ what that's like." He nudged her affectionately. "That poor sod."

Avery nodded. It simply wasn't in her power to say no to one of Cullen's "nice" dinners, though she would put nearly all of them into that category, even when Cullen had shrugged and claimed to have just thrown something together. Nor could she do anything other than enthusiastically aid him in any plan that roused so much enthusiasm from him. Rylen had been such a tremendous help since his arrival, working tirelessly even while plagued with his own withdrawal. There was no question that he deserved as much happiness as anyone. And Cassandra definitely seemed to have a hidden romantic streak underneath all that armor. Avery couldn't imagine the woman she knew indulging Rylen in midnight conversations if there wasn't some spark of reciprocal interest there. Avery bounced in her seat, her mind suddenly swarming with ideas and plans. Perhaps they could pretend to be having some problem with the lighting, necessitating the use of candlelight. She'd open a couple of the good bottles of wine and make sure their glasses stayed full…

"Okay. I'm in," she confirmed. "So what exactly are you thinking?"

"Well, she's going to get her fill of fish and crab before she leaves, so I was thinking I'd have them stop by the Teller's ranch on their way back from town and pick up a chicken to roast," he said. Her mouth watered at the thought, even though she was already eating.

"Too bad lemons aren't in season," she sighed. The first time Cullen had roasted her a chicken he'd rubbed the bird in butter and garlic, then stuffed lemon slices under the skin. She'd never had a better chicken in her life.

"No, but we do still have some preserved lemon rind," he said. "And I'm already a little late with cutting back the rosemary bush."

"Mmm, yes," she groaned. "Do that."

As soon as she'd finished eating, Malcolm began fussing for more milk. Cullen kissed them both on the head and then slipped out the front door of the cabin, leaving Avery and Malcolm to their quiet time together on the sofa. The cabin was simply appointed, containing only the essentials. A thick rug covered the floor of the sitting room, which contained only an overfull bookshelf, a fireplace, a few chairs and end tables. They'd had large windows installed in each room in order to keep Cullen at ease, though it had turned out to make the house drafty and difficult to heat during the winter. They'd solved the problem by having heavy drapes made that could cover and insulate the windows when the rooms weren't occupied. Now though the drapes were pulled back and windows thrown open, leaving only light linen curtains to flutter in the breeze.

The kitchen contained a table and chairs, a washbasin, a butcher block countertop and a large wood stove, which Cullen had put to masterful use. The two extra bedrooms were modest in size, and while one would eventually become Malcolm's room, the other contained Avery's herb distillation equipment, though Cullen planned to add a workshop to the greenhouse to which all those supplies would be transfered. Avery had questioned whether or not they even needed the addition of a third bedroom, but Cullen had winked and pinched her bottom, making it clear that they'd probably be filling the house with children sooner rather than later, and she'd been too busy blushing to argue.

The master bedroom was hardly big enough to be called a "master" anything, but the double doors that opened up to the lakefront made the room feel boundless in size, and on warm summer nights they'd lie in bed with the doors and windows thrown wide open, letting in enough of the nights sky above their horizon that they could count the distant twinkle of stars the same as they had back in Skyhold.

The biggest luxury they'd allowed themselves was the water pump beside their extra large tub that would pipe in water directly form the lake after running it through several charcoal filters. Never again would they have to wait for buckets of water to heat over the fire before they were able to take a bath. The water arrived cold, but Avery could warm it quickly enough. Aside from healing aches and injuries, lighting kitchen and hearth fires and keeping the arbor blessing alive, it was one of the few occasions that she truly had need of her magic anymore.

Malcolm finally drifted off for the first of his numerous daily naps, and Avery gently placed him in the bassinet, before running to the window that faced out toward the guest house to try to catch a peek at Cullen's whereabouts. Cullen had specifically had the guesthouse built over a hundred yards away from their cabin, far down the waterfront and beyond a small cluster of trees. He'd had privacy for both structures in mind, since he knew from the beginning that Rylen would be detoxing there, a process which would be ugly at times and take months to complete. In between were the greenhouse and fenced off vegetable garden, a pile of firewood and a shed that abutted their small shelter for the horses, which also held Cullen's growing collection of tools. Each house had its own dock, though they only had the one canoe. Currently it wasn't tied at either of them.

Cullen too was nowhere to be seen, but only one horse was gone. If Rylen had gone to the village already, surely he and Cassandra would have taken both. Which meant that probably Rylen and Cassandra were out on the lake again, while Cullen had taken a horse to run an errand.

Quickly, Avery sprinted back to the bedroom, anxious to capitalize on the time alone with a sleeping baby. While she often pretended to be napping along with Malcolm, she'd secretly begun work on a project that would eventually be Cullen's Satinalia gift. Opening the bottom drawer of her bureau, she pulled out the hidden box buried beneath her clothes.

Lifting the lid, her eyes fell upon a beautifully familiar sight: the first letter that Cullen had ever given her. Well, not exactly the first, as that one had long been fish food at the bottom of the Waking Sea, but the reproduction that he'd slipped her in the storage room of the Gallows.

_Dearest Avery,_

_I suppose I don't need to start out with an apology this time around, which is a relief, because the truth of the matter is that I am no longer sorry that I kissed you that day. If I hadn't made the embarrassing mistake of misinterpreting you turning toward me on the ledge, I certainly wouldn't have felt the need to write an apologetic letter about it, which I then returned for, and, well you were there for the rest so I needn't rehash it all for you. (I do remain deeply sorry about knocking you into the water however.) But the fact is that act of poor judgment led me to where I am right now. Sitting here, quill in hand, with the very recent memory of you on my lips and a real reason to look ahead to the future with a rare and unexpected bit of hopefulness. Considering what this city has become, and the hardships we individually endure, I count myself incredibly lucky to have gotten to spend a little bit of time with you before everything in Kirkwall falls apart._

_I know you share the same concerns that I do about our particular stations and the challenges we will face, and while those are considerable and will certainly cause us great struggles in the days and weeks to come, I don't really care about them at the moment. All I care about is this that, for some reason, you have allowed me the chance to get closer to you. It might surprise you to know this, but I have been watching you for years and wishing secretly that things in our lives were different so that I might have such an opportunity. I have gone so far as to find any reason to place myself beside you anytime you visited the Gallows, which you never seemed to notice. I did this even despite the fact that my opinion of mages in general hasn't always been particularly kind or compassionate. Your strength and fortitude over the years has cut through all my prejudices and encouraged me to seek out new perspectives, and for that, I thank you. Imagine my surprise to discover that we both retreat to the same spot in the docks when we are seeking peace from the madness of our lives. I hope you don't mind my continuing to share that spot with you, as just having you there seems to lessen my own troubles. If you allow me to continue to attempt to comfort you in return, I would consider it an honor._  
_I'll conclude this overly effusive letter by telling you that I find your beauty to be incomparable, your wit incredibly charming and I admire you and your accomplishments beyond measure. Thank you for letting me kiss you again._

 _Yours,_  
_Cullen_

6 years old now, the letter was a little faded and deeply creased from the multiple times it had been folded over and secreted into her belongings, but it remained as precious and butterfly-inducing as the first time she'd read it. Beneath that, stacked in a neat pile, lay every letter that he'd written her since, starting with the contents of the portfolio he'd gifted her early one morning in Skyhold, to the letters they exchanged while she rode with Mahanon toward the Western Approach, to the cache of correspondence retrieved from the corrupted messenger birds. She'd been sorting all the letters into order, adding her own in the places between his where they belonged, and filling pages detailing her feelings and whereabouts for the four years they'd been separated.

There was still much to do, and numerous gaps to be filled, but she'd already made arrangements to send it all away to be bound into a proper, hardcover book once it was finished. Cullen had said once that their children and grandchildren would be able to read the story of their love one day, and now they'd never have to worry about losing a page or messing up the order. The most beautiful thing about the whole process was the realization that it wasn't actually a complete story at all. It was merely a beginning, a very long, tumultuous beginning that preceded an even longer, deeper love story, one which they were living out freely every single day. To honor that fact, she had requested a chunk of blank pages be inserted at the end, to be filled in over time and at their leisure.

Avery sighed happily as she sat atop their bed, the spring breeze carrying the subtle scent of rain as it wafted through the open doors and caressed through her hair. Movement on the lake caught her eye, drawing her attention to the canoe floating lazily over the water. Kelsa had joined Cassandra and Rylen, with Rylen pulling the paddle up to point quickly at something on the far end of the lake. Both women turned their heads, and Avery was sure she heard the distant trickle of laughter.

Xxxxxxx

Dinner was ready, and the cabin smelled tantalizingly of roasted chicken and rosemary, while a pan of vegetables and new batch of buttered rolls cooled on the counter top. Malcolm was freshly fed and changed, and secure in Cullen's arms as Avery put the finishing touches on the kitchen table. The wine bottles were open, the candles lit and filling the room with a warm glow. She'd found a white tablecloth to cover the table's aged wood, and picked a small bouquet of young flowers from the greenhouse to sit in a small glass in the center. Outside the sky was turning orange while rain clouds rolled in from the distant eastern plains. The lush hills that rose around the lake were growing greener by the day.

"I wish we had music!" Avery lamented as she stood back and assessed the setup. It was as romantic as she could possibly make their quaint little kitchen. There were four chairs there, but after she and Cullen had their fill to eat, two of those chairs would be swiftly emptied.

"Kelsa plays the cello," Cullen informed her. "Or she used to, before she joined the Order. She brought a cello with her, says she hopes to distract herself by relearning everything she used to know."

"Well I'm hardly going to ask our recovering guest to come perform for Cass and Rylen's sake," Avery teased. Cullen flashed her a smirk that teased her back without a word.

"Does she still need a plate for dinner?"

"Nope. I ran one out to her while you were feeding Mal. Have you visited with her much? She's a nice girl. Spent some time in Kirkwall actually, though it was after you—"

He paused, going still. "Oh, oh wait, — okay, here they come. They're coming!"

Avery ran to the mirror and picked at her hair, though she realized halfway through that it was silly. Cassandra and Rylen wouldn't care how she looked. And the only one who did care had already told her numerous times how beautiful she was in her red cotton dress. It was nothing fancy, just a simple, comfortable number that buttoned down the front and was easy to nurse in. But Cullen's eyes practically glowed as he looked at her, making her feel as though she was actually parading around the house in that dress she'd worn to the Winter Palace.

Cullen handed Malcolm off to Avery, and she was surprised to see that Malcolm already seemed on the verge of sleep again. The timing couldn't be better. Avery swayed around the room as she cuddled the infant close, lulling him the rest of the way into unconsciousness. Malcolm was warm and soft in her arms, nestling close against her chest with chubby little hands grasping the neckline of her dress. She hummed quietly, walking deeper into the dim sitting room toward the rocking crib. She'd hoped the crib was far enough away from the table that their conversation shouldn't disturb his sleep, but close enough that Avery could hear the moment he might stir. When his little hand unclasped her dress and fell away, she kissed his head and took another breath of that deliciously soft baby scent, then lay him gently on the blanket inside the rocking crib.

Avery rushed back to Cullen's side just in time to see Cassandra and Rylen making their final approach to the cabin. Cass was dressed comfortably, wearing a green tunic and grey breeches, but the flush to her cheeks and sparkle in her eyes was like a light shining from within, softening her features and giving her an almost girlish appearance. Rylen beamed as he held the door for her, looking handsome in his smart black outfit and clearly unable to take his eyes off Cassandra.

It made Avery happy simply to look at them. Their affection for each other was clear, though it still had the sizzle of brand new possibility. Cassandra wouldn't be an easy catch, of that there was no question. But Rylen was enjoying the chase, and was performing every step like a perfect gentleman. He pulled her chair out for her to sit, answering her in conversation with politeness and good humor. It reminded Avery of the evening spent as refugees in a little mountain town, where she and Cullen had their first public dinner while a harvest celebration rumbled through the streets outside. Avery felt her happiness only grow as she watched them, two nervous, excited individuals about to embark upon the adventure of love. And Cullen's closest, truest friend finally having a long held wish fulfilled.

Cullen squeezed Avery's hand under the table, lacing his fingers through hers and holding tightly. For all the joy she felt in watching two people as they were beginning to fall in love, she felt all the happier to realize that the magic she felt with Cullen still raged as strongly as it ever had, perhaps moreso now that they'd overcome so much. Their life together, their happiness in their new home felt _earned._ And it had only been magnified by the birth of their beautiful, perfect son. She could hardly stop smiling as she sat quietly and let Cassandra and Rylen continue to chat, consumed quickly into their own little conversation while she and Cullen passed knowing looks back and forth.

"Oh, I um… Love? Would you mind, um, assisting me with something? For a moment?" Cullen interrupted after Avery had cleaned the bones of her chicken and sat back in her chair. "I forgot there's a, er… crab trap that I forgot to pull out that's… a little tricky…" Cullen watched Avery expectantly. Before she could respond Rylen piped up.

"I got it already, Cullen," he said quietly, his dark eyes sharp, but amused. "It was empty, by the way. Might still be a little early in the season for crab."

"No, not that one," Avery added. "There's a backup. We rarely use it. I accidentally knocked it into the water today and it got caught on something. I couldn't get it out myself." Without waiting for a further response she pushed her chair back and stood, with Cullen quickly following her lead. She glanced over to the crib in the sitting room, where Malcolm continued to snooze peacefully.

"Don't worry about us, you two just… carry on," Cullen mumbled as they slipped out the door.

They sprinted around to the far side of the house and out of eyesight of the kitchen windows. Cullen caught her in his arms as they came to a stop, pulling Avery flush against him. Her breath caught in her throat as she registered the wall of warm, responsive strength that was wrapping itself around her. A heavy hand pressed into the back of her waist, and she gazed up into Cullen's pleased half-smile.

They laughed for a moment. Their escape had probably been suspiciously quick, and she could only imagine Cassandra sitting inside rolling her eyes at their obviousness. But there was nothing to be done about that now.

"Oh, hi there, wife," Cullen teased softly, the glint in his eye dancing like flame. Avery still felt a little dazed at times when she looked up into her husbands face, especially now that the effects of fresh country air and sunshine were visible all over him. She'd not seen any flush of purple around his eyes since he'd been in the worst of his withdrawal last summer, but even that hadn't been nearly as noticeable as it was back in Kirkwall. He'd spent so much time preparing them all filling meals, particularly once he'd learned of her pregnancy, that they'd both gained a little weight, smoothing out once countable ribs, and filling in divots and striations from overworked muscles. The pale gold of his skin had already deepened, on its way to the dazzling tan he'd achieve working outside without a shirt during the summer. His eyes were bright, the depth of the scar over his lip seeming to fade slightly as his health and strength increased. His beauty was almost blindingly brilliant, rendering her mute while her eyes adjusted to the vision of him.

"Hi handsome," she finally answered, feeling a loopy grin spread over her face. Cullen's body pressed against hers was making fast work of warming her blood. She'd been advised to abstain from sex for the first month or so after giving birth, in order to let her body heal, but doing so had tested her in ways she was no longer accustomed.

Cullen brushed her hair behind her ear, the light touch of his fingertip drawing shivers down her neck.

"They remind me of us back at the beginning," he began. "Well, not exactly of course. Our situation was… _unique_ to say the least."

"I've been thinking the same thing," Avery nodded in agreement. "Would it have been frowned upon for a Templar to romance a Seeker?"

"It probably would have been, to an extent. But nothing like us. Even among the normal affairs that occurred in the circle…"

"Right," Avery laughed. "Though who knows, it could be that plenty of lifelong apostates fall in love with Knight-Captains, you just never hear about it."

"And I wonder why that would be?" Culled snorted.

"Probably because they all ended up forced apart forever, or hanged?"

They shared an uneasy laugh, but Cullen protectively tightened his arms around her. Combing gently through his hair, which at its current length refused to not to look tousled no matter how many times he combed it, Avery felt a bittersweet ache clenching through her chest. Such a possibility had been a very real risk for them, once upon a time.

"Also, I seem to recall it being _me_ who fell in love with _you_ first," Cullen added. "Well before you even knew I was alive."

"And what a shame that was," Avery sighed. "Thank the Maker for the ledge. I wonder how many others might have been as lucky as we have," Cullen pulled back and gave her a look.

"You still think this, _us,_ is due to luck?"

"Isn't it?"

Cullen laughed, and took her lips for a tender kiss. The soft warmth of his mouth, moving slowly and deeply into hers seemed to pull her off the earth entirely. For a moment, she forgot what they were even talking about. When he pulled away, it took effort to catch her breath.

"It's been the Maker's plan from the very beginning, love," he said. He'd said that once. In fact he'd said it quite a few times. But there'd been so many hardships over the years too, it'd been difficult to accept that the Maker would plan for them to endure so much pain, so much fighting just to be together. Avery laughed softly, grasping harder at his broad shoulders.

"It's amazing to me that you still believe that," she said gently, shaking her head.

"I believe it now more than ever," he said. "You, me, Malcolm… baby number two… number three…maybe four…" his smile spread wide, beaming warmth stronger than the sun down on her. "This is where we've always been meant to be."

She couldn't help returning his smile, couldn't help the heat that spread from her neck over her cheeks, nor the sudden awareness of the reality of him. Close, safe, happy and healthy. It was all she'd ever wanted for him, this beautiful man who'd endured so much, seen so much evil in the world but somehow remained so kind and generous. She took his mouth in another kiss, and let her body grind slowly against him, drawn by an uncontrollable force. The planes and valleys of his muscles, his back, his hips, the angle of his jaw, were all so perfectly familiar, so precious but still so intensely stimulating, she couldn't help but open her legs and pull him by the buttocks until he was nestled tightly against her thighs. Fire flooded her veins, driving her arms and hands to try to pull him closer still, seized by a new, overwhelming need. Over a month without him inside her had practically been unbearable, despite the exhaustion, despite the soft pouch that remained over her tummy and the extra weight still clinging to her hips that made her feel a little self-conscious. But Cullen had been patient, using those skillful hands to give her relief when she was on the verge of screaming with frustration. And she'd done her best to keep him sated, though he continuously insisted she preserve her energy.

In the distance rolled a gentle rumble of thunder, heralding the spring rains that would renew the valley and nourish the soil. And behind the thunder, something else, something rich and deep that stopped both Cullen and Avery into place.

"Is that…?" Avery began, looking toward the guesthouse.

"She must be trying to play," Cullen confirmed. The music from the cello started off quiet and tentative, but there was no mistaking the low dulcet tones that carried over the lake from the open windows of the guesthouse. Avery and Cullen held each other silently as the instrument stuttered at first, stopping and restarting while Kelsa dug deep inside herself, searching for whatever talent that had been forced into dormancy by the Order. Even when the notes were shaky, it was a woodsy music that reverberated deeply into Avery's soul, stirring something that kept her frozen to her spot even as her body continued to thrum against Cullen's. Minutes passed, with the soft sounds of the cello joined by the gentle lapping of the lake, and the evening song of the birds.

Finally Cullen spoke.

"Well, I think we would be doing ourselves a disservice if we didn't take this opportunity to have a dance."

Cullen straightened up and took her hand, putting himself into the proper position. Avery was startled at the suggestion, but couldn't help but giggle.

"I thought Commander Cullen didn't dance?" she teased.

"Well firstly my dear, Commander is no longer my title. I'm merely… farmer Cullen? Chef Cullen? Devoted husband and father Cullen," he sighed happily, his lip curling into a grin. "And secondly, I am doing plenty of things lately that I never used to do. Why not a dance with my beautiful wife?"

Avery felt her cheeks grow hot, and she could tell by the spread of Cullen's smile that she was blushing furiously. With a nod, she placed herself against him, a bit closer than the usual dance would call for, but there was no one out here watching.

Cullen lead, laughing quietly at himself as he took a few unsure steps, directing her slowly around in a circle. The music from down the lake grew in volume, reflecting Kelsa's apparently growing confidence and she reconnected with what she used to know. She'd heard someone long ago say that once you caught a passion for music, it would always be inside you no matter what hardships came. Avery couldn't help but think her love for Cullen was the same. As soon as she'd begun to feel it, in those late fireside nights back at her Kirkwall estate, she would never be without it again.

Her cheek resting on Cullen's shoulder, the last six years began to flash throughout her mind, pulled from hidden places by the music that wafted around them. Cullen's face, his deep caramel eyes, his strong arms around her. So many beautiful words spoken, so many letters read, and written. He'd killed for her, suffered silently for her, carried a torch for her even when there seemed to be no hope of ever even seeing her again. Tears stung at her eyes, and she squeezed him close, listening to the steady — always so blighted _steady_ — beating of his loyal, beautiful heart.

He dropped her hand, caressing up her arm until he was circling her completely again, his palm gently cupping her chin, tipping her head back so their mouths could meet. She melted into his kiss, letting him enter her as deeply as he desired. It occurred to her that a kiss was how it all began. A strange, unexpected kiss from a man she should have hated had somehow changed the course of her life and transformed everything.

Avery felt his heartbeat grow faster as he pressed tightly against her again. Her muscles went shaky with desire, a need to consume him and to join with him flared brightly inside her again, speaking the need to never again be ripped apart.

"So…. When would you like to get started on baby number two?" he asked, barely a whisper against her cheek. His manhood was growing under his breeches, flooding her body with a new desperation.

She laughed and pulled his face back to hers again, taking his lower lip between her teeth for a gentle nibble before diving in for another urgent kiss.

From inside the cabin came a rise of laughter, Cassandra and Rylen clearly enjoying each other's company.

Not longer after, the quiet wail of her waking son.

Avery laughed again, the urgency in her body doused instantaneously by the irrepressible instinct to go to her crying baby. Cullen smiled. He didn't need to say that he understood. Keeping an arm around her waist, they turned to walk back to the front of the cabin.

"I'm thinking we let Mal have our undivided attention for a while longer?" Avery said with a nudge, even though she knew Cullen wasn't being entirely serious in the first place.

"Yes, yes," Cullen smirked. "You're right of course."

Avery squeezed him close, scraping her fingers up his back as they rounded the corner of the house toward the door. Through the window of the kitchen stood Cassandra and Rylen, both beaming down at the infant in Cassandra's arms. Mal was no longer crying, just calmly looking up and inspecting the two smiling people who'd come to his aid.

"Mmm, I like it when you say things like that," Avery joked, turning to kiss Cullen on the cheek. "You really _are_ trying to get me back into bed, aren't you?"

"Desperately," he said matter-of-factly.

"Well, don't worry my love. As soon as we have the house to ourselves again, and Mal is back asleep, I'm going to give _you_ all the undivided attention that you can handle."

"Perfect," Cullen sighed.

"No, _you're_ perfect."


End file.
